


When you land on Earth

by MercuryM



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Almost Sex, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Co-workers, Drama, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Smut, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Romance, Superheroes, Teasing, Thanksgiving, doctor!Bellamy, doctor!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 48,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryM/pseuds/MercuryM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little something for all of my tumblr ficlets and drabbles I've done for the prompts I've received. Each one of them is a complete, stand-alone fic, unless stated otherwise.</p><p>34. blink and you're engaged (fake/pretend)<br/>35. blink and you're engaged, part 2 (fake/pretend)<br/>36. a (not so) perfect beginning (Anastasia au)<br/>37. saving the world wasn't in the job description (prophecy au)<br/>38. "I can't look! I'm hiding my face in your lap."<br/>39. met at a public fireworks display + superhero au</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it would be nice to put these little drabbles up here as well.
> 
>  **I absolutely refuse to have my stories hosted on wattpad, goodreads or any other site!**  
>  \------
> 
> anon: AU Bellarke where Bellamy cooks breakfast for Clarke please!!

Clarke stretched her limbs as the last remains of her sleep left her. Her hand searched for the warm body that belonged to her lover but she encountered only cold sheets.

She frowned. It was Saturday morning and they usually spend it in bed, lazing around, cuddling and talking nonsense until well past noon. It was unlike Bellamy to be up before her.

Clarke opened her eyes and surveyed the room – no sign of Bellamy but the door was slightly ajar and she could hear sounds coming from the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose as she forced her unresponsive body in a sitting position, the white sheets pooling in her lap in the process.

Her feet touched the cold floor as she reached to grab something to wear. And if that ended to be one of Bellamy’s shirts, well, it wasn’t like he would mind. Quite the opposite in fact.

She only stopped by the bathroom to brush her teeth and put some order in her tangled blond hair.

The smell of coffee in the hallway was unmistakable. That and pancakes. Her stomach grumbled in approval.

When she reached the kitchen she couldn’t help but smile – the whole place was a mess.

There was flour on the kitchen island, broken eggshells sat to a used, sticky whisk. An opened bottle of milk and a wrapper of butter added to the overall messy look of the room. There were dirty dishes in the sink and the coffee machine was on, brewing the all-so-needed morning dosage of caffeine.

Bellamy was dressed in his jeans, which were riding low on his hips, and was shirtless and Clarke took advantage of that and admired the muscles’ play along her boyfriend’s back. No matter how he looked and how he was dressed Bellamy never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

Her laptop was open on the plot next to the oven and from the angle Clarke had she could see that the internet browser was showcasing a cooking site, the image of deliciously looking pancakes covered in syrup was a dead give-away. The radio was on and her smile widen when Clarke realised that he was listening to her favourite station.

And humming.

While flipping the pancakes as if he were an expert. 

The picture he painted warmed her heart.

Half-naked Bellamy Blake standing in _her_ kitchen, humming to one of _her_ favourite songs and trying his best to make _her_ breakfast.

And Clarke knew that this was something special because Bellamy couldn’t cook to save his life.

She padded softly and when she reached him, Clarke wove her hands around his waist and laid a kiss on the back of his neck, his shaggy bed hair tickling her nose.

“Morning, handsome.”

He paused for a moment to turn his head and smile in greeting and then poured the last of the mixture into the hot pan. Then he lifted one of her hands and kissed her knuckles.

“You shouldn’t be up.” He bit her middle finger in mock displeasure.

Clarke laughed. “Really? And what was I supposed to do?”

Bellamy prodded the pancake, deemed it ready and flipped it over.

“You were supposed to be still sleeping and I was supposed to wake you up with a good morning kiss and surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

“Ooh, and any special reason why I’m getting the princess treatment?”

He turned off the stove and turned around in her embrace.

Clarke giggled – he had flour in his hair and somehow some of the pancake mixture had gotten on the tip of his nose.

“What?” He grumbled good-naturally.

She just shook her head in silent laughter and reached with fingers to softly swipe away the mixture off the tip of his nose playfully.

His warm brown eyes sparkled with happiness and his hands hugged her closer. His lips were still smiling when he lowered his head and kissed her. He tasted of coffee and spices, and something Clarke dubbed as sunshine.

She melted against his frame and opened her mouth when his tongue licked her lips. The kiss was lazy and warm, and full of love.

“Morning, princess.” He kissed her again and nuzzled her neck. “Breakfast?”

Clarke looked at him – his hair was still powdered white and he had this ridiculous happy smile on his face because he had made her breakfast. So she reached to pull him for another long kiss and nodded her agreement.

“Breakfast.”


	2. Kissing is better than studying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> racanai asked: Hi! Your reason for wanting to write a Bellarke fic gave me an idea: Clarke is trying to study, but it's too loud in the hostel because of a party the annoying senior Bellamy is holding. She goes to him to stop him, but... whatever your fantasy sees happening here! :D (Mine says there's a game of spin-the-bottle going on and Jasper sort of forces her to participate - with an intersting ending. XP) Not sure if that's worth writing, though...
> 
> \------------
> 
> Part 1 of the Military 'verse.

Clarke tried to ignore the heavy beat that made the old wooden floor of her room vibrate. The text in front of her blurred yet again and she mixed up the lines for the nth time this evening.

_The three types of granular leukocytes are neutrophils, eosinophils, and basophils. Each type of granular leukocyte is classified by the presence of chemical-filled vesicles-_

Excited shouting interrupted the flow of her thoughts and Clarke clenched her teeth in sheer frustration. She got it; really, they were all bunch of kids, just high-schoolers, on a three-day trip in the mountains, in a cheap run-down hostel, with virtually no adults to control them. It was of no surprise that at the first chance they got they would throw a party, pump up the music and dance all night.

But that didn’t mean that Clarke had to put up with their idiocy all night long. Unlike some people, the blond girl had a test on Monday morning and she planned to ace it, no matter the difficulties. It was an important examination and if she scored the needed points then their field instructor, Anya, would actually recommend her to the higher-ups. And for Clarke that was one step closer to achieving her dream – to be a field medic.

_Eosinophils contain digestive enzymes specialised for digesting viruses that have been bound to by antibodies in the blood. Basophils release-_

A giggling couple stumbled on to her door and tried to pry it open. After some unsuccessful attempts to turn the handle, courtesy of the fact that Clarke had locked it, the giggles moved along and a bang and more snickering told Clarke that they had found an empty open room. That or they had opted for the hallway.

She closed her textbooks and rubbed the base of her nose; she was getting a headache and with all of the noise, singing and shouting there was no way she could actually memorise or get to learn something useful.

She needed silence. Glancing at her wrist watch Clarke decided that enough was enough – it was well past two in the morning. If she couldn’t study then she was going to sleep. But before that she was going to put an end to the ridiculousness that surrounded her.

She put her hair in a messy bun, slipped on a pair of fuzzy slippers and donned a soft grey cardigan. She grabbed her room keys, locked the door and set to find the perpetrator behind this mess.

The hallway was mostly empty except for few people sitting down in front of their rooms and talking, drinking something that Clarke was happy to note wasn’t alcohol. Nobody paid attention to her green pyjama pants and the ones who did moved out of her way - after all she was famous in the military school for having a foul temper under her sweet visage if angered.

Moving one floor down, Clarke followed the crowd until she reached the main living room where the party was in full swing. The music was obnoxiously loud and the lamps were off; the soft glow of an old disco ball and few ultraviolet lamps were the only sources of light.

Sweaty bodies moved around her and Clarke wrinkled her nose in disgust as she was pushed left and right. The beat of the song changed and the slow monotone tempo slowly seeped in her skin, making her feel hot and light-headed. If she had to be honest, she loved dancing and maybe if she wasn’t so pissed off she might have joined the crowd, but right now she itched to give a certain someone a piece of her mind.

By the time she had reached the garden, Clarke’s skin was shiny with perspiration; her hair had escaped the messy up-do and she breathed more heavily. Her sharp blue eyes surveyed the open space and she found her target sitting on one of the couches, drink in hand and a girl on each side of him.

Clarke narrowed her eyes as she slowly made her way to _him_ , Bellamy, few years older than her, a first-class shooter, a genius in hand-to-hand combat, and the bane to her existence. That _Bellamy Blake_.

On the way there she saw few familiar faces like Raven and Jasper, smiling in her direction was Monty, who was somehow still awake, and there was Octavia that was obviously laughing when she noticed her destination.

One of the girls leaned closer to Bellamy and he turned in her direction and said something to her that made her blush and Clarke’s blood started boiling.

She barely paid attention to Finn when the boy jumped in front of her way to tell her ‘hi’; she simply threw her cardigan in his arms and by passed him. Octavia was laughing so hard she had hard time breathing and Lincoln was watching with amusement.

It took her less than a minute to reach her target and when she did, Clarke tapped her foot in frustration and impatience. That finally got her Bellamy’s attention.

He turned to look at her and Clarke refused to blush under his scrutiny as he took in her fluffy pink slippers, her comfy green pants, the whiteness of her tank-top and her crossed arms, the annoyed curl of her lips and the tangle of her blond hair. Maybe she should have changed her clothes but then again she refused to feel ashamed or embarrassed about her night attire.

Bellamy lifted his right eyebrow in question. “Yes?” He drawled out and his deep, velvety voice caressed her ears despite the volume of the music.

Clarke didn’t let that affect her. _Much_. “Don’t you think it’s about time you put a stop to this?” She waved her hands around to indicate the crowd.

His lips stretched in a resemblance of a smile and he extracted himself from the embrace of the two girls, brushing them aside as they voiced their complaints. 

“Come now, _princess_ ,” Clarke twitched at the hated nickname, “have a little fun. I’m pretty sure all those books can’t be any good for your...health.”

The way he paused to come up with a suitable word told Clarke plenty about his real thoughts.

“It’s nearly three in the morning, Bellamy. Some of us would like to sleep.”

He got up from the couch.

“Then _sleep_.” His dark brown eyes pinned her in place.

Clarke bit her tongue to keep the flow of words that wanted to escape and tried to regain some resemblance of control over her thoughts and actions.

Or maybe not. “How can I sleep with all of this noise?” She hissed at him and stood her ground when he made yet another step closer.

“Oh, is the noise bothering you? You should have said so from the beginning, princess.” He smirked at her, full out sexy arrogant smirk that mocked her a little and threatened to turn her legs into jelly. “Of course, everything comes with a _price_.”

That did not sound tempting at all or so Clarke tried to convince herself. Bellamy had a way to make every word sound like a sexual innuendo.

“A price?” She was so proud that her voice sounded strong and revealed none of her inner struggle.

“Yes.” He stopped right in front of her, his chest nearly brushing her breasts, and Clarke willed her body to not take a step back and face head-on Bellamy’s predatory gaze.

“And what would that be?”

His eyes flicked to her lips and then back to her eyes. “I don’t think you’ll be in a condition to meet my requirements.”

Clarke fumed silently. The son of a bitch was purposely egging her on and undermining her strength of character. Oh, she knew he was trying to manipulate her but at the same time he thought that there was no way she was going to do it.

And maybe some other day she would have backed down, she would have said something sarcastic and rolled her eyes at him; she would have brushed past him and would have turned the music down herself, she would have ignored the electricity that surrounded them every time they would butt heads.

But tonight Clarke had had enough of dancing around the magnetism that was Bellamy Blake.

He thought he had her cornered.

Clarke smirked.

He should have known better.

She didn’t stop to think further - she simply reached with her hands to pull at his dark hair and yanked his head closer and savoured his lips in a long, angry, thrilling, wet kiss. He was unresponsive for less than a second and then his hands were around her waist, pulling her closer, and his tongue found its way in her hot mouth.

They pulled apart when the need for oxygen became too much and Clarke immediately extracted herself from his embrace. The night air was cold against her heated flesh.

She smiled smugly when she looked at him – his pupils were blown, his lips were rosy and wet and his hands clenched as if he wanted to reach and bring her closer. He truly hadn’t thought she would be brave enough to take him up on his offer.

The crowd around them was quiet, stunned, and every person was looking at them.

Clarke turned around. “This party is over.” Her gaze met Octavia’s and the younger Blake went to turn off the stereo, a small delighted smile playing along her lips.

Clarke took one more look at Bellamy’s flabbergasted expression, grabbed her cardigan from Finn’s stunned form and made her way to her room.

Two could play that game.

Clarke grinned – this would be _so much_ fun.


	3. Battle ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3rikala said: Bellamy and Clarke are paired together in a class on hand to hand combat, Clarke is struggling due to the fact she's more book smart. Bellamy is forced to tutor her, and they stay after class, alone, so he can help her pass!!!
> 
> \------
> 
> Part 2 of the Military 'verse.

Clarke dropped on the mat.

Running laps really wasn’t her thing. But neither was failing.

She wiped off the sweat from her forehead and took a long sip from her water bottle. She grumbled at the feeling of heaviness in her tired legs and laid down on the mat.

Clarke had aced her test despite the fact that she didn’t get to study for it as much as she would have liked to, courtesy to one Bellamy Blake and the party he had organised, but as Anya had so eloquently put it – she was screwed if she failed her physical exam. 

And right now, in the condition she was, Clarke was pretty sure that was a given. Her combat skills were okay on a lucky day. It wasn’t that she was clumsy or lacked strength, she knew the moves and if she concentrated she could execute them nearly perfectly. She was small and her endurance was surprisingly good and if needed she was fast on her feet.

No, her problem was that she would panic. Well, not exactly panic, she just hated having to inflict pain on others and that lead to her never going full out against her opponents thus getting defeated half the time. She wanted to be a field medic, not an assassin; there was no need for pain.

But the higher-ups didn’t give a fuck about her wishes and she was obligated to pass a physical self-defence class if she wanted to stand a chance to get accepted in the medical programme. Stupid rules, stupid military school, stupid Tristan that threatened to fail her if she didn’t get her shit together.

It wasn’t as if she was a hand-to-hand combat genius unlike some (namely Bellamy Blake).

Clarke relied on her brain to solve things, violence was her last resort. She preferred the safety of the research, the smell of books and ink, the struggle with puzzles and the giddy joy of solving an annoyingly difficult problem. Her hands were made for a healing touch - her mother’s words - not for making people suffer.

And that was her dilemma.

She closed her eyes and slowed down her breathing. Clarke had stayed after class in the gym and was far away from being done with her reluctant training. But it was a necessity if she wanted to pass.

Because of that, Clarke slowly got to her feet and started going through the moves Tristan had taught them today in class. It was a slow work and extremely frustrating because Clarke was sure some of them she was doing wrong, but because there was nobody to supervise and correct her, this would have to do for now.

She was on her third set of moves when she heard the steps behind her but she didn’t turn. It was probably Lincoln; she had, after all, asked him if he was willing to help her if he had the time.

“Open your legs a bit and straighten your back. Also, the angle of your left hand is wrong.”

Clarke turned around so fast she nearly tripped over her suddenly non-cooperating feet. That wasn’t Lincoln, no, that was Bellamy.

Bellamy who was dressed in sweatpants, tight t-shirt and gym shoes and was currently staring at her, unimpressed with her lack of grace.

Clarke scowled, kicking ass wasn’t her forte.

“What are you doing here?”

He rolled his shoulders few times and stretched his legs.

“What does it seem like I’m doing?”

“Uh…” His shirt rode up and Clarke glimpsed few delicious inches of perfect, hard abs and sun-kissed skin. And it was distracting. Especially when it brought back the memories from their kiss.

Clarke hadn’t seen him ever since, which was less than a week ago. It wasn’t that she was avoiding him; she was just…busy, yes, busy.

He smirked at her obvious bewilderment. “You didn’t listen to Tristan today, did you?”

“I did.” The protest was out before she could stop it. And she really _did_ listen, that was why she was here on a Friday night after everyone had gone to their rooms.

“Then how did you miss the part where he announced that apparently you’ll need a tutor or should I call it a sparing buddy to pass your exam?”

Clarke froze; this was not happening.

“Cat got your tongue, _princess_?” She glared at him; he was finding the whole situation way too amusing to her liking.

“And you’re that person?”

Bellamy’s lips stretched into a smirk and Clarke stubbornly looked in his eyes, refusing to give into the temptation to watch his lips form the words.

“Correct. For the next five weeks until the exam we’ll have a session three times a week where I’ll observe and correct your moves and fighting methods, and teach you the fine points of hand-to-hand combat.”

Clarke felt the blood drain from her face. _Fuck_. Five weeks, three times a week, with Bellamy, _alone_. And she was pretty sure there would be a lot of touching. Double fuck.

She wanted to whine at the unfairness at the whole thing, but she was aware that this was actually a great idea. Bellamy _was_ the best fighter in their group, both with a gun and with his hands, she would give him that. She had seen him spar and he was all sharp jabs, precise movements and calculated steps, not once wasting any ounce of energy or making unnecessary moves. Fighting was his element and if he was willing to help, her refusal was not on option on her end. Not if she wanted to pass.

She shook her head to clear her mind and pushed every distracting thought away. (Like how attractive Bellamy was when he was genuinely amused.)

“Okay. How are we going to do this?”

He lifted an eyebrow at her sudden change of heart but didn’t comment on it.

“Show me the katas you’ve learned.”

And Clarke did. And if she put more effort than usual in them, she chose to ignore it.

And that how their first training practice began.

Clarke would go through the katas, slowly, trying to immerse herself in the feel and the flow of the moves, and Bellamy would be right next to her, watching her stance, noticing her mistakes, showing her how to do them the right way.

Some of the moves he out-right told her not to use because they wouldn’t work with her build, some of the katas he changed and so on, until he was satisfied with the repertoire of movements she had.

By the time they were over, Clarke was sweaty all over again and her limbs were shaking from the exertion. On top of it, she was constantly aware of Bellamy’s proximity and her skin sparked with electricity every time he would touch her to show her how to move. Her cheeks were flushed and not only because of the effort to execute the moves correctly.

Clarke blamed the kiss and the intimate knowledge of knowing how his body felt against hers.

“Take a ten minute break and we’ll end this with a spar.”

She choked on her water.

“Are you serious?”

“What? You don’t feel confident enough, princess?” There it was again, he was challenging her, baiting her into accepting or admitting defeat. But her pride wouldn’t let her back down and the arrogant jerk knew that. Now even more than before. (Clarke still blamed the kiss.)

She seethed on the inside while giving him a deadpan look. Clarke wouldn’t let him get a rise out of her yet again.

Ten minutes later her water bottle was empty and she was facing Bellamy.

Thinking rationally about it she knew she would lose, it was inevitable considering Bellamy’s skills. That’s why she was going to rely on her _own_ skills. She had watched him spar enough times to remember his signature moves and his distinct fighting style. If she played her cards right, her observations and analysis might be of help.

They moved as one.

Clarke ducked Bellamy’s right fist and he evaded her elbow. She tried to swipe his legs but he was fast and moved back. But she didn’t let him get away from her. His arms were longer and she had to stay closer than she felt comfortable with if she wanted to land a hit. It was a risk but it was also her only chance.

He grabbed her head but she twisted away and winced when some of her hair remained in his hand. Clarke pushed the pain away and attacked his open abdomen but her jabs got intercepted and he pushed her back.

The oxygen burned in her lungs as Clarke took a moment to compose herself and change her strategy.

She could see it now, he was holding back, and even though she knew the reason, she still bristled at being underestimated.

Bellamy was on her faster than she could blink and her sloppy defence was crumbling, her muscles were protesting the strain and she could feel her strength waning.

In a desperate last chance move she lifted her leg to kick his supporting one but he caught her leg and pulled her closer. She lost her balance and he caught one of her hands in an iron grip, and twisted it uncomfortably behind her back. Clarke arched her spine and used the motion to swing her still free hand, and her bend elbow caught him in the jaw when Bellamy didn’t move fast enough.

The hit disrupted their unsteady equilibrium and they crashed on the mat covered floor.

The air left Clarke’s lungs and her hand protested the pain, Bellamy’s weight on top of her made breathing even more difficult. She could feel the hard planes of his chest pushing against her breasts and the contrast was dizzying.

Slowly he shook his head and lifted his eyes to look at her.

There was something in those brown eyes that made her breath hitch. His mouth was hovering over hers and she stilled in anticipation.

But he just released her bound hand and lifted his weight from her body, pushing back until he kneeled between her open legs. Then he rubbed his jaw and suddenly Clarke got the epiphany that she had actually managed to land a hit on him. True, he was holding back but _she_ had landed a hit on _Bellamy_.

Her happiness must have shown on her face because he snorted in amusement.

“Keep that up, princess, and you’ll pass the exam.”

Clarke smiled at his back when he got up and went to retrieve his water bottle. And she did not ogle his butt, nu-uh.

But judging by the smirk he threw her over his shoulder he had noticed her staring. Damn, give her a break.

“See you Monday.” And he left.

Clarke continued to lay in silence on the mat.

Her giddiness was slowly making way for the tiredness and all Clarke wanted was a shower.

Bellamy’s smirk flashed through her mind and she groaned.

Those would be some long five weeks.


	4. Jittery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> racanai said: I'd love to read another peak in the Military Bellarke AU! The teasing is always great! ;)
> 
> \------
> 
> Part 3 of the Military 'verse.

It wasn’t often when she got like this – all nervous and scared, tense and restless.

It just wasn’t in her character.

But well, for this Clarke would make an exception.

Because in less than half an hour she would have to face Tristan in front of most of the military wannabes and spar with him, like a legit mock-fight.

And Clarke was freaking out.

This was not how she had imagined her exam would go.

Her vision for the spar was a private fight, with maybe Anya and some of the other higher-ups, but not this, not an arena with people _cheering_.

Even in a room far from the fighting, with the door closed, she still could hear the excitement of the crowd, the screams of ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’, and the voice of the narrator commentating the sparing matches.

Clarke was pacing the small room, fidgeting every other second, biting her lips, jumping up and down; the nervous energy that resided in her body was slowly driving her crazy.

Fighting wasn’t her strong point. Give her books, riddles, mind games, hell, give her an injured person with a broken arm and internal bleeding – she still would know what to do.

But fighting, fighting was all about instincts, precautions, planning three steps ahead, observing, looking for weaknesses, keeping your guard up, taunting your opponent, being sneaky, relying on your strength – things, that Clarke didn’t get to use very often in her daily life.

She was a healer, not a warrior.

And even though she had had five weeks to get ready for this, Clarke still felt under-prepared.

Bellamy had been of great help to hone her skills and boost her confidence. But she still hesitated, still thought too much about how to act and didn’t move as efficiently as she knew she could – this constant struggle for superiority between her brain and her instincts was dividing her attention, and the few seconds she lost contemplating her actions had been, most of the time, the deciding factor for her defeat.

To be fair, she won quite a few spar matches against Bellamy and that was saying a lot about her growth and progress.

But Tristan was on a whole different level than Bellamy.

And as she listened to yet another opponent being defeated by her hand-to-hand combat instructor, her faith in her abilities slowly started to crumble.

It was on her fifth circle around the room when she noticed that the door was opened and a person was leaning against the frame – Bellamy.

Clarke's heart skipped a beat.

Over the last five weeks while practising and helping her perfect her skills, Clarke had seen a whole other side of him. The Bellamy she had known before had been arrogant and self-confident, with an ego that was few sizes too big, cocky, assertive, impartial (unless it involved his sister somehow), persistent (he still called Clarke princess) and with a fast temper. But as she got to know him bit by bit, to observe him closely, she started to see how many layers he actually had and Clarke itched to get to the centre of his being and see what was hidden under so many conflicting character traits. The Bellamy she got to call a friend was a born leader, he was charismatic, protective, caring, smart, reliable, and independent, he was a tease (five weeks seeing him half-naked had been a testament to her self-control), he was funny and… and he clicked with her like no other guy before.

Suddenly, he wasn’t Bellamy Blake, the bane of her existence.

Suddenly, he was Bellamy Blake, the guy she had an epic crush on, the guy, whose smile could make her melt, the guy, whose laugh was the best thing she had ever heard, the guy, who knew how to rile her up and calm her down with just few words, a lift of his lips, a quirk of his eyebrows.

And the fact that over the five weeks he hadn’t touched her even _once_ inappropriately… well, talk about sexual frustration.

Oh, there were hot looks and the lingering gazes, innuendo-laced teasing, and constant brief touches and brushing of hands, and it wasn’t once or twice that Clarke had wanted to just pull him and assault his smirking mouth, wrap her hands around his neck and pull at his soft hair in punishment for making her head spin like that.

But just like every other encounter between them, that had been just another game, a test of endurance, of who would give in first.

And Clarke loved winning.

So, she kept her trembling at bay when he would touch her and the electricity would zap through her body and make her insides warm. And she would relish the feeling of complacency when she would catch him pulling back his fingers and restraining his impulse to get closer to her.

The attraction was from both sides and the memories from six weeks ago when she had kissed him burned brightly in her mindscape and slipped in her dreams, more than once.

“Nervous?” His steady, familiar voice pushed away her uneasiness.

Clarke nodded and he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

“You’ll do fine; after all you’re my protégé.” Bellamy smirked at her and Clarke rolled her eyes at his obvious smugness.

“I know, it’s just the crowd and the shouting and-“

“Hey, hey, calm down.” He touched her wrist and slowly laced their fingers together. “Forget about the people that will watch, ignore the noise. All you have to do is focus on your opponent and take him out. You have what it takes, princess.” Bellamy squeezed their fingers and Clarke let her head fall on his shoulder and breathed in his scent – sandalwood and cold air and something distinctively _Bellamy_.

Her shoulders sagged in relief and her mind stopped freaking out.

His other hand brushed through her hair and massaged her scalp and Clarke bit back a moan of appreciation.

This right here was pure heaven.

“Better?”

Clarke was truly embarrassed by the whine of disappointment that left her lips when his hand stopped moving but his warm amused laugh soothed her mortification.

“You need a distraction.”

She lifted her head to gaze into his dark brown eyes.

“A distraction? Before the match? Do you hear yourself?”

“Getting stressed because of the exam is not a good thing either. So, yes, you need a proper distraction that will let you relax and not worry that much about the fight.”

“I presume you have something in mind?”

His lips stretched in a grin and Clarke could only stare stunned at how a smile could entirely transform his face.

Bellamy took a step closer and he guided her to take a step back. Then another and another until Clarke felt her back connecting with the wall behind her. He leaned closer and his lips brushed the side of her mouth.

Clarke was fixed on the spot, her heart was running thousand miles per second, and she forgot how to breathe when the hand in her hair pulled her head back and exposed her neck to Bellamy’s hungry gaze.

His breath was warm and wet against her sensitive skin and small shivers raced down her spine. They stood like that for what felt like an eternity until _finally_ he moved closer and nuzzled the creamy expansion of skin, his nose tickling behind her ear and teasing her skin.

The first touch of his chapped full lips against her neck set her blood on fire. The kisses were laid with care and precision, covering every inch of skin and Clarke let out a little moan when Bellamy got daring and let his tongue join the game. The wetness of the kisses and the warmth of his breath were playing havoc on her senses.

Then he stilled and she wrapped her free hand around his broad back. That was all the encouragement he needed and he laid a kiss at the junction where her neck met her shoulder, and nipped the same place with his teeth when her hand slipped under his shirt.  

The hand he had in her hair clenched tighter and Bellamy pushed her body even closer to the wall, his own form not far behind, caging her in his arms, one of his legs found its way between hers and Clarke her fingernails down his back when he caught her earlobe with his teeth and _licked_.

Bellamy let go of her blond locks and let his hand travel down her shoulder and her ribs, brushing gently against the swell of her breasts, teased the skin that peaked from under her wrinkled t-shirt, ghosted over her butt and slithered down her leg until he stopped, and laid his palm behind her knee. A gentle tug and she lifted her leg until he had it secured around his waist and grinded his hips against the v of her legs.

She moaned, Clarke wasn’t going to lie. But it felt _so good_.

And then he licked the shell of her ear and he growled, _fucking growled_ , when she let her hand slip under the band of his pants and teasingly grab a handful of his firm ass. He dragged his teeth along her neck in punishment and then soothed the irritated red skin with open-mouthed kisses.

Finally, Bellamy lifted his head and looked at Clarke – she was a mess, her hair was all over the place, her blue eyes were glazed over and her soft, pink lips were open in an invitation. And she was oh so tempting.

He let his mouth brush against hers and licked his lips, his tongue wetting her lips in the process. She shook in his embrace and he pulled back when she tried to lean in and kiss him.

Her confusion was adorable and Bellamy smiled.

He kissed her cute, snub nose and slowly disentangled his body from hers. It was difficult and Bellamy wanted nothing more to get lost in her but he resisted, _somehow_.

Clarke raised a hand to her lips and Bellamy’s eyes flashed with _want_.

But there would be time for that later.

“Go kick his ass, princess, and you’ll get your reward.”

Bellamy left the room and Clarke stood alone with her jumbled thoughts.

 _He had- but what- no kiss- wet lips- heat-_ reward _._

Clarke smiled; he had won this round.

But she was going to show him what the consequences were for teasing her like this.

She straightened her back and let the excitement seep in her skin, in her being, in her thoughts.

Clarke had a fight to win.


	5. Tease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous said: Bellarke and so much teasing?

Surprisingly, it started innocently enough.

Innocently to the point that Bellamy was sure he was imagining things.

Like there was no way that Octavia’s new study partner in anatomy was actually flirting with him.

Clarke Griffin was the epitome of a good girl – blond wavy hair, big blue eyes, tinkling laugh, good grades, quirky sense of humour, sucker for justice, not taking shit from anyone and the whole aura that screamed purity.

So, when one day he got back from training (and it was a long day listening to Kane’s bitching about his slow-reflexes; it wasn’t Bellamy’s fault that he still hadn’t gotten used to the .9mm gun, the grip was all wrong) and saw Clarke and Octavia hunched over the kitchen table and devouring textbooks, he thought nothing.

When it became once a week thing he still thought nothing.

When Clarke would stay for dinner and movie night Bellamy simply brushed it off as a normal behaviour for two friends.

Then, then things started to get…weird.

Weird as in Clarke would stop by and she and Octavia would spend the whole day in the pool, swimming and what not. And it was then that Bellamy was reminded that Clarke was actually a _girl_ , more like a young woman considering that she was just two-three years younger than him.

He wasn’t blind, he knew she was attractive, but seeing her dressed in that skimpy white swimsuit (and was it a swimsuit if it barely covered _anything_?) that left almost nothing to his imagination was like a punch to the gut. And well after that, things got hard. Like literally.

And suddenly Clarke Griffin wasn’t just his baby sister’s study buddy. No, she was a devil woman that haunted his dreams and occupied his thoughts daily.

She would do something completely innocently like bite her pen while concentrating on her studies and Bellamy would have to force himself to avert his gaze or risk getting caught, _blushing_.

That never happened to him before, _never_. He knew he was good-looking and he had his fair share of females sharing his bed, he wasn’t shy about using his body to his advantages either. But lusting after the completely obvious Clarke was something new, different, _alien_.

Even more so when she didn’t show any degree of interest in him.

And wasn’t that frustrating…

And then things went up a notch.

Clarke would hang more and more around his house when he was there. But not just to study, nope, she would drop by for a movie night, or to take Octavia shopping for her next date with Jasper (and Bellamy was still conflicted over that), or she would drag Raven and the three girls would laze all day around the pool, barely dressed.

Bellamy started noticing how her clothes would slowly start getting more revealing – shorts and skirts, skin-tight tank-tops and nearly see-through blouses would replace jeans and sweatshirts. The worst of all was that she didn’t seem to notice the effect she was having on him, _at all_.

For Clarke he was just Octavia’s older brother and that annoyed the fuck out of Bellamy.

And she would eat her ice-cream as if it was the best thing ever and lick the trails of melted chocolate off her fingers and when the delightful little mews of appreciation would start Bellamy knew he had to get away.

But he couldn’t. And that’s how he ended watching her, obsessing over it, really, how she devoured a bowl of cherries, and fuck, but he had never felt more jealous of a fruit before. The way she would bite in the fleshy cherry, the way her lips would part and her tongue would poke out to lick the dribbling juice… it was all too much.

And the way she would twirl her hair around her fingers and don’t get him started on her fingers because he was sure he had some sort of sick fixation with her small but strong soft hands. Or maybe his infatuation was with her graceful long neck when she would unconsciously bare it in his direction and he would have the sudden impulse to nuzzle the silky skin and kiss it, possibly bite it and mark it. But maybe he liked it the best when he would anger her on purpose just to see her blue eyes darken and spit fire and lightning at him, the way her lips would quiver with suppressed rage and how her hands would shake and ball in fists as if she was holding back from punching him. She was all static electricity and inferno of heat and Bellamy would have to bite the inside of his cheek and remind himself that kissing her would be the stupidest thing ever.

And then the messages would start.

In the beginning it would be normal stuff and Bellamy tried not to read too much into it.

But then he was fucking sure the flirting started and his brain stopped working.

He still read the text that had started it all.

[ _Hey, you free tonight?_ ]

[ _Yeah, I’m done with training at six. Why?_ ]

[ _Well, there’s this new club that opened recently…_ ]

Bellamy could swear that his heart stopped for a moment.

[ _Are you asking me or telling me?_ ]

[ _And here I thought that you could take a hint._ ]

He could see her rolling her eyes at him.

[ _I’ll come. What time and where?_ ]

[ _Great! I’ll tell Octavia and she’ll drag you along. See you later._ ]

And suddenly his happy bubble burst. Because apparently he was a tag-along and this wasn’t a date with – _hot_ – Clarke but a group thing. And Bellamy wanted to bash his head against the wall in frustration.

Really, what would it take for that girl to actually notice him?

And that was how he ended drinking beer, sitting on a small table in one of the corners in the new club creatively named ‘Grounders’ and brooding.

His sister and Jasper, who turned out to be an okay guy if not little intimidated by the fact that his girlfriend’s brother was in police training, were on the dance floor. Raven had gone for more drinks, and Finn and Monty were engaged in a heated discussion about the humanitarian side of testing some new kind of drug. And Miller was sitting right in front of him and the bastard was smirking.

Because Bellamy was watching Clarke.

Clarke who was dancing.

Clarke who was wearing extremely short black dress and six inches high stiletto heels and had a dark-red chocker necklace around her neck. Clarke who was dirty dancing, her blond hair sticking to her back, whose skin glistened invitingly with little droplets of perspiration, and attracting the attention of a fair number of males.

One of them approached her and put his hands on her hips drawing her closer and Bellamy nearly growled, the anger, the possessiveness bubbling under his skin as his hand clenched around his bubble.

Miller chuckled.

The guy ran his hand along Clarke arm, up her shoulder and tipped her head to whisper something in her ear and Bellamy lost it.

He was out of his seat and half-way across the dancing floor before he even registered his movement. But that didn’t matter because he was pulling Clarke back against his chest and glaring at the guy, daring him, _daring him_ to try and touch her again. The glare must have been effective because the guy backed away and left them alone in the midst of blaring loud music and sweaty bodies.

And then Clarke melted against his form and Bellamy could feel all of her – the curve of her ass that fit oh so well against his hips, the way his hands rested so easily on her waist, how she tipped her head back and laid it to rest on his shoulder.

He looked at her – smouldering blue eyes and red lips stretched in a lazy, smug smile.

Then she started moving and his hands tightened. It was hot and sensual and nearly better than sex. Bellamy lowered his head and inhaled her scent, lavender and pine and wind, and it was a weird mixture but it suited her so well.

And she grinded her ass against him and he pulled her even closer, and nicked her ear in reprimand.

“Don’t play with fire.”

The music was loud but her smile told him that she had heard him. She turned around and her hands caressed his shoulders and his chest over his dark blue shirt until they settled on his neck.

“I think I’ve been playing with a fire for a while now, _Bellamy_.” He loved the way his name rolled off her tongue.

One of his hands settled on the small of her back and the other found its way in her hair.

“How long?”

She tugged him closer and Bellamy shivered when she licked the shell of his ear.

“Since the beginning.” Her breath was hot and he could smell the fruity cocktail she had a while ago.

And suddenly all the seemingly innocent gestures, all the confusing innuendo-laced questions, all her actions made sense. Clarke had been seducing him so slowly and carefully that he hadn’t actually suspected anything.

“I was about to give up if this didn’t work.”

Bellamy had played right into her arms. But he didn’t care.

“Minx.”

And then he was kissing her and tasting her and he forgot about all else except the feel of Clarke in his arms. The whimpers of disappointment she made when they separated for air and the mewls of pleasure when he gave in and sucked at her neck, the feel of her nails along his back, her heat, her scent, that was all that mattered.

It turned out that Clarke Griffin wasn’t all that innocent; she was a right tease actually.

But Bellamy wouldn’t have her any other way.


	6. Maze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: Prompt for you: after 1x08, Bellamy and Clarke have an understanding. But it slowly dawns on Bellamy that he is totally lusting after Clarke after he teaches her how to shoot. He has a fantasy of them down in the bunker where he doesn't stop touching her after she learns to shoot. And one day, it's too much, and he tricks her down to the bunker to get the fantasy, and Clarke, out of his head.... But it's not that easy.

It was a maze, really, Bellamy was pretty damn sure of it.

There was no other explanation for it.

For this constant need, want, lust, obsession over one Clarke Griffin.

She plagued his dreams at night and his thoughts at day.

Whenever he would see her or hear her name, pure animalistic want would run through his body until all of his blood was heading south.

It was because of that touch the day they were in the supply depot and they had found the guns.

Seeing her hold a rifle had been an unexpected turn on and he actually got to touch her and teach her how to shoot. And her eagerness to learn and her excitement when she pulled the trigger, and the heat of her back against his palm, all of that was haunting him.

At first he tried to push it away, to forget the flicker of lust he had felt. To pretend it never happened, that it was simply a fluke because there was no way he wanted to bed Clarke. They may have come to some sort of an agreement and a pretty damn good co-leadership but he had no interest in her that way, or so he kept telling himself.

But that didn’t work.

So he tried to acknowledge his desire but didn’t do anything about it. He accepted the feelings of hunger he had every time he laid his eyes on her pretty blond hair and convinced himself that it was a passing fancy, which would last until the next time she would do something he didn’t approve of.

And he was very, very wrong.

Because they got into an argument and seeing her blazing with anger didn’t diminish his hunger. Oh no, it only made it stronger. It made him want to dominate her, to make her submit to him, to make her plead and beg, and the intensity of his longing for that to happen scared him.

So he hid and avoided her.

And that didn’t work out well either.

The first night he dreamed of them kissing in the damp supply depot, her hands around his neck and his – under her clothes, the rifle long forgotten.

The second night, he let his touches linger as he taught her how to shoot and he teased her until she couldn’t take more of his warmth and she threw the gun away as her mouth sealed over his.

The third night, not surprisingly, had him in the dark depot again. But this time Clarke was the tease, the seductress, and when she sank down on her knees and her hands skimped over the obvious bulge in his trousers, Bellamy woke up with a curse on his mouth and a problem between his legs.

The forth dream skipped the teasing part and got straight to the heavy petting, clothes flying and hands exploring every inch of newly-found skin, mouths hot and wet with saliva, and when dream-Clarke shuddered against his form, his name on her lips, Bellamy woke up to sticky blanket and a blinding headache.

The fifth night was when Bellamy decided he had enough because having a wet dream about fucking Clarke against the bleak wall of the depot shouldn’t have made him panting with lust so hard that even wanking twice didn’t bring him the satisfaction he was after.

So Bellamy changed strategies.

Ignoring his desire did nothing. Agreeing that it indeed existed but not acting on it made things worse. And avoiding the target of his obsession made things hard, literally.

And all of that brought Bellamy to his current predicament.

“You’ve been acting weird these days. Are you okay?” Clarke’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, just... distracted, nothing to worry about, princess.”

Her eyes rove over his body and Bellamy felt his heartbeat speed up. This was getting ridiculous, he hadn’t been this stressed even on his exam to be a part of the Elite guards on the Ark. Hell, he was calmer when he was facing the Grounders.

 “Alright, if you’re sure.” With that she kneeled to open the hatch to the supply depot, turned her lamp on and slowly descended down the stairs.

If he couldn’t get her out of his head by his will alone, then he was going to get this thing over with and hope that it was enough to flush her out of his system.

That was the reason why he was out alone with Clarke, walking the depressing hallways of the bunker and waiting for the right time to seduce her.

“You think we’ll find something useful here?”

Bellamy shrugged even though she couldn’t see him. “I don’t know, last time we didn’t stick around to actually explore this place. We might find more guns or blankets or something.”

Clarke hummed in agreement and turned right at the branch of the tunnel.

They continued walking on, the poor light of their lamps the only source of light they had, with an occasional comment here and there as they checked dust covered chests and overturned boxes.

He couldn’t help but notice how Clarke slowed down her pace until they were walking side by side and her eyes would flicker to his every now and then.

It made him feel equally giddy and annoyed.

“What?”

She stopped and turned to face him and he followed her lead.

“It’s just... is everything alright between us? You’ve been acting strange ever since the whole Dax incident and well, avoiding me kinda... doesn’t feel all that good considering the fact that I don’t know why.”

She was biting her lower lip and she fidgeted a bit the longer Bellamy stared at her.  

“It’s nothing.” But she didn’t seem convinced.

“I thought we were doing fine.”

“We _are_ doing fine, princess.”

“Then what is it?”

Clarke was more stubborn and concerned than usual and Bellamy sighed; there went his plans for seduction.

“Just... forget it.”

Her eyes narrowed and Bellamy recognised the adamant glint in them.

“Tell me.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Stop playing around, Bellamy, and _tell me_.”

Bellamy tried; he really did, to keep a rein on his emotions, on his lust, on his actions because yeah, he had planned on seducing her and having his wicked way with her unresisting body, but when faced with Clarke’s willingness to help him, with her worry over his well-being, with her caring he couldn’t bring himself to do it. But damn it, she demanded things of him, so he was going to give them to her, even if they weren’t what she truly wanted.

So he gave her no time to back off.

Bellamy just yanked her against his chest and took her mouth with his, harshly, bitingly, with enough force to make their teeth clang and when she whimpered he forced his way between her lips and let his tongue wreak havoc on her senses.

Then he pushed her against one of the walls, nearly tripping over a chair in the process, and caged her in with his arms next to her head and his hips against hers.

“ _Bellamy_...”

But he didn’t let her say anything else; he just kept kissing her, imprinting in her mind the feel of him, his scent, his being, the same way she possessed his mind.

Her hands were curled against his chest and she had long ago stopped trying to push him away, her fingers now clenching the fabric of his shirt and holding on for dear life.

Bellamy’s head was spinning because she wasn’t pushing him away; he was drowning in her and he lived for the way her lips sucked greedily at his, those little sounds of pleasure that left her mouth were his final undoing.

His hands were under her clothes and then her jacket was tugged off, her shirt and his close behind, and the skin on skin contact was _divine_.

Her hands never sat still, exploring the muscles of his chest, dragging angry red lines down his back, tugging at his hair, pulling at his trousers, clenching around his biceps when he would grind his hips against hers.

And his weren’t idle either; they travelled down her sides, squeezed her ass, palmed her breasts, pulled her hair aside and exposed her graceful neck, got rid of her jeans, hitched her legs around his waist and supported her when she seemed to melt under his careful pleasurable ministrations.

His trousers were off in a blink of an eye and Bellamy bit her neck to stifle his groan.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me ‘no’.”

She just tightened her legs bringing him slower to her heat.

“ _Fuck_ , princess...” He licked her neck until he reached her lips and then devoured her mouth. “Tell me to stop.”

Her eyes were clouded with desire when she forced him to meet her gaze. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Bellamy, not now, no-“

The last of his resolve crumbled and he was in her and it was better than he could ever imagine and the picture she painted – tangled hair and slick skin, rosy cheeks and red, wet lips – it was all for him and he felt godly, powerful, smug – he had done that to _her_ , it wasn’t just him being affected by her, and gods, the feeling was unlike any other.

It was later when they got down from their high, hands touching in the dark in search of their respective clothing, that Bellamy realised that this wasn’t the end.

Once wasn’t enough to get rid of his fixation with Clarke.

No, it only made it worse.

It was like a maze with no exits.

And in the middle of it was Clarke, pulling him to her like a magnet.

She smiled at him and her fingers brushed the back of his hand; and maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t against his sudden lust.


	7. Busted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous said: Bellarke Modern AU Prompt - Both work at the hospital and they are trying to keep the secret of their new relationship. But when one their co-workers hits on Clarke, while Bellamy is jealous. They end up in a closet, making-out or having sex and get caught.

He watched them like a hawk stalking its prey.

And frankly, that was exactly what he was doing.

And itching to dive in and go for the kill.

Because the guy he was observing had the galls to flirt with _his_ girl _._

Doctor Bellamy Blake narrowed his eyes – it didn’t matter that nobody knew that she was his; she belonged to him with all of her soul and heart, end of conversation.

The guy – newly arrived Doctor Finn Collins of Pediatrics – brushed away a strand of her wavy blond hair and stood too close to her for Bellamy’s liking.

She laughed at something Collins had said and Bellamy felt the tell-tale signs of jealousy making themselves known – the shimmering anger behind his cold brown eyes, the urge to reach forward and yank her back in his embrace and flatten Collins’ nose, to mark her in some way so that they all knew she was taken and _his_ ; if she could hear him now she would laugh at his possessiveness and kiss him to erase any doubts he could have.

But right now she was on the other end of the hallway and making nice with the new doctor.

Bellamy didn’t even meet the guy and he already hated him.

He simply disliked sharing, okay?                       

It was a perfectly reasonable excuse to hate the new doctor.

He didn’t get _that_ many things in life, so it wasn’t that weird that he was overprotective of the few things he cherished, not that he saw her as a possession, no, not at all, but she _was_ his until she decided otherwise. That was not to say that he was going to give her up without a fight, quite the contrary. But it also meant that he wasn’t going to give anyone the opportunity to take her from him.

And that included one Finn Collins.

Collins leaned closer to her and Bellamy broke the pen he was holding in his hand when the pediatrician tried to whisper something in her ear; the nurse next to him looked at him oddly and went her way.

Tried being the keyword here because his girl pulled back and said something that made Collins’ face resemble that of a kicked puppy.

With a wave for goodbye and a small smile, she took her chart and started writing something down as she walked right towards Bellamy.

He looked around and noticed the empty hallway and waited for her to see him. Unfortunately, for her that is, she was too absorbed in her writing and when Bellamy took advantage of that and pulled her in one of the thankfully empty patients’ rooms, she let out a loud squeal that was quickly muffled by his hand.

One of her hands clenched the white fabric of her lab coat over her heart and the other slapped his shoulder as her eyes glared at him clearly displeased and unimpressed.

He didn’t allow her any other move – he took his hand off her mouth and crashed his lips against hers, pouring all of his pent-up indignation and his silly (but not to him) disgruntlement in the deep, consuming kiss.

The chart dropped to the ground as she slipped her hands under his coat and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and tugged him closer.

His left hand tipped her head little to the side and his tongue licked the seam of her lips until she parted her mouth and let him in; his right hand franticly tried to get her coat off and when that didn’t work he simply pushed her sweater up until his fingers touched warm soft skin.

They parted for air and Bellamy laid kisses down her neck unwilling to stop tasting her for even a moment. He pushed her against the wall and she arched her back when his fingers trailed up her spine and reached the straps of her bra, teasing her for few seconds there by pulling the elastic band and letting it snap back, and only after she licked the shell of his ear and bit softly his earlobe did he undo the clasp and his hands moved to torment in the best way possible her supple breasts.

He kissed her again to stifle her moan of appreciation and his own pleasure-filled grunt when her mischievous fingers headed south and slipped under his pants, palming his rapidly growing hardness.

That was what she did to him – she had him panting with want and ready for her with just few filthy kisses and a touch or two; she had him losing his mind over something seemingly trivial; she had him aching for her warmth, her laugh, her happiness; she had him entrapped in her charm and he could breathe freely only in her presence; she had _all of him_ and Bellamy wouldn’t want it any other way.

Her fingers encircled his cock and gave it few tugs, the silky material of his boxers making the friction seem both more and less. He could feel the heat of her hand but he missed the feel of her skin against his naked flesh.

As if hearing his thoughts she pushed the fabric away and Bellamy had to kiss her to mute his excited groan. She chuckled against his mouth and he bit her lip in retribution.

Bellamy rested his forehead against hers and rumbled approvingly when he saw her abused red lips, wet with his saliva, her darkened blue eyes, and her hair a mess from his hands. She was the painted form of debauchery and he loved that look on her, especially when he was the one who brought forth this hidden side of hers.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she panted against his lips and he pushed her even harder against the wall, loving how she struggled for oxygen but didn’t push him back, “but what brought this on?”

She had a point – they had agreed to keep their relationship a secret for the time being until they were sure that this was more than a fling.

But seeing another guy flirt with her so openly and nearly undressing her with his eyes, shot down any doubts that this wasn’t serious.

“Collins.” The name was spat out with more venom than usual.

Her eyes twinkled with laughter and her unoccupied hand scratched pleasantly his scalp.

“I told him I’m taken.”

His eyes flashed with a possessive tang and his lips split in a predatory grin. “ _Good_.”

Just as he was about to kiss her silly, the doorknob turned and light flooded the otherwise semi-dark room.

Bellamy squinted against the light and his girl hid her face in his neck.

The surprised and quickly heating face of the Head Nurse greeted him and he wanted to hit himself for forgetting to lock the room.

“Doctor Blake!” Harper squeaked and averted her eyes. “I- um- excuse me.” With that the nurse backtracked and closed the room.

“Well, now we don’t have to tell them.” Amused blue eyes met his.

Head Nurse Harper was notorious for being the biggest gossip in the hospital.

“Maybe, but it means that we’ll have to do a walk of shame.”

Mortification quickly replaced the laughter and she let her head fall to his shoulder and whimpered.

Bellamy ran his hand through her hair and carefully untangled the mess it had become.

“Look at it this way,” she raised her head to look at him, “we should finish here,” he rolled his hips and her breath hitched when she was reminded of his hot pulsing cock in her hand, “to give them something to support their gossip with.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But you like me.” He proved his point by kissing her and stealing the air from her lungs.

The tension bled from her form and she relaxed in his hold, licking in his mouth and letting out moans and mewls of pleasure and desire for _more_.

Just as they were getting back into it, the speakers over them turned on. “Doctor Clarke Griffin, please head to the ER. Doctor Clarke Griffin, please head to the ER.”

Clarke laughed at Bellamy’s pained expression. “ _Later_.” She sealed her promise with a kiss.


	8. Love under the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous said: Bellarke Prompt - Octavia takes his son for the night. A night since his birth that Bellamy has Clarke all to himself. He intends to take advantage of this.

The house seemed abnormally silent.

There were no baby’s cries, no static from the babyphone, Clarke wasn’t humming to try and put their little boy to sleep.

It was quiet for the first time in almost seven months and Bellamy took a moment to appreciate the calmness.

His dear sister decided that tonight she was going to be a good aunt and took little Hadrian away from his parents for one night with the promise to look after her cute nephew and call if something went wrong, which Octavia assured her brother would never happen.

And now Bellamy had a free night, all for himself and his beautiful wife, Clarke.

They hadn’t spent a peaceful night with just the two of them for what felt like forever.

He dearly loved his baby boy, now even more as his little prince started sleeping most of the night, but he missed having Clarke all to himself. Bellamy missed being the centre of her attention, he missed her body heat in the middle of the night when Hadrian would cry and Clarke would get up to see what’s wrong, he missed having her read to him – it was something Clarke had started doing for Hadrian when they figured that their little boy loved listening to their voices and was a way to instantly calm him down and have him behave, he missed spending lazy weekends with her, when they would do nothing but make love and venture to the kitchen when it was absolutely necessary.

He missed all those small things but he loved Hadrian so much that Bellamy couldn’t imagine his life any other way; he was slowly learning to share and while he grumbled and complained he secretly loved it all.

He loved watching Clarke rock their baby to sleep, he loved snuggling with his wife while she was feeding Hadrian, he loved coming home to a house that smelled of baby and cinnamon and happy gurgling and Clarke’s laughter greeting him the moment he opens the door, he loved having his son in his arms, amazed at the beauty the tiny creature held and how tightly his son had managed to grip his heart in such a short time.

He loved his small family.

But he loved having some quality time with Clarke as well.

And tonight, _tonight_ it was all about them.          

Originally, Bellamy had planned a night out with a dinner at their favourite restaurant, a walk along the beach and maybe some romancing on a blanket (that brought back memories of their teenage days and their daring escapades). But when Bellamy got home and he saw Clarke sleeping on the couch, snuggled in one of his sweatshirts, his plan undertook some changes.

The reservation to the restaurant was called off and instead Bellamy placed an order for some Chinese takeout, spread a blanket in the backyard, lit few candles and turned on the fairy lights and put some relaxing music on. Then, he took a quick shower and changed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt.

Shaking her shoulder gently, Bellamy woke up Clarke.

Sleepy dazed blue eyes met his and a lazy happy smile graced her features.

“Hey, handsome.”

Bellamy leaned in to kiss her temple and then her nose and smoothed the hair away from her face.

“Hey to you too, princess.”

“What time is it?” Clarke blinked owlishly and looked at the clock above the fireplace in the living room and frowned at the numbers. “We’re going to be late.”

She tried to get up but Bellamy held her down and she looked at him quizzically.

“We’re staying home tonight.”

“But the reservation-“

“I cancelled it.” He kissed her, slow and languid, and filled with adoration. “Go shower, I ordered some food.”

Clarke wanted to argue but Bellamy silenced her protests with another kiss and she gave in. they had planned this night in advance but she had been so tired that she unwittingly fell asleep when she expected it to be a short nap. Nonetheless, a night spent with Bellamy was her favourite thing no matter the circumstances, so she got up from the couch and headed to the bathroom.

The dress she had planned for the evening was draped over the chair in their bedroom and Clarke put it away with a small sad smile; she had been looking forward to Bellamy’s reaction to the long red backless dress, but she was pretty sure that Octavia would be happy to play babysitter sometime soon, and Clarke would get her chance to remind her husband of his luck.

She eyed the lacy set of underwear she had bought along with the dress – then again, maybe she wouldn’t have to wait that long.

Her shower wasn’t very short but it wasn’t overly long either; it was just enough to wash the last remains of the sleep away and put some energy in her limbs. She towelled her blond hair and blow-dried the ends until they felt soft and no longer wet. Their plans for going out fell out, but that didn’t stop Clarke from applying coconut butter on her body – it made her skin silky to the touch and it smelled heavenly. She pulled on her new underwear set, a pair of jean shorts and one of Bellamy’s button down shirts – he always had this smug glint in his eyes when she wore his clothes, and well, he was pretty much _insatiable_ afterwards; Clarke counted on that, it had been too long.

The bell rang and Clarke got down just in time to see Bellamy closing the front door, a bag filled with steaming food in his left hand.

His eyes darkened when he noticed her clothes and butterflies erupted in Clarke’s stomach, butterflies that had never stopped being there since their first meeting six years ago.

“Come on.” Clarke took his right hand and he led them to the backyard.

The soft warm glow of the candles accompanied by the twinkling fairy lights made the space look eternal, _magical_ ; it was as if fireflies were dancing in the dark sky around them and Clarke twirled around laughing, her eyes shining with wonder and love.

She pulled Bellamy for a kiss and tried to convey all of her feeling on the matter – her happiness and contentment, her love and appreciation, her joy and awe; it was all for him and judging by Bellamy’s grin he knew that.

They sat on the blanket and shared small tidbits of their days between bites of food and stolen kisses. Laughter and elation filled the air around them as Bellamy tickled Clarke until tears ran down her cheeks and then kissed her silly until they were out of breath.

The food was pushed out of the way as they laid snuggling and stared at the fairy lights and the stars beyond them.

“This is nice.”

Bellamy hummed in agreement and tucked his nose in Clarke’s neck.

“We should do this more often; just the two of us.”

He nuzzled her neck, inhaling the coconut scent, and kissed up her neck until he reached her jaw line and went for her awaiting lips.

“We should, especially now that Hadrian is big enough for you to let him out of your sight for more than five minutes.”

“Hey!” Clarke slapped his shoulder in mock-outrage at his teasing, but he had a right – Clarke had been more than overprotective of Hadrian ever since their baby boy decided he didn’t want to wait and was born in the beginning of her eight month and then spend one week in the hospital for monitoring.

They both have been worried sick but like a true Blake, Hadrian simply wanted to make an unforgettable appearance.

He kissed her again and bit her lip when she tugged at his hair.

“Now, my dear princess, is time for desert.” His brown eyes gleamed playfully and Clarke chocked back her giggles to try and keep character.

“And what do you have in mind, hm?”

Bellamy arched one of his brows. “Well _you_ of course.”

Clarke mock-gasped and pulled his hair again.

“You want to ravish me under the night sky? That’s not very chivalrous of you.”

Bellamy leaned in until his lips brushed against hers as he spoke, “But haven’t you learned already? I’m not the prince, I’m the bandit and chivalrous I’m not.”

Her mouth opened under the onslaught of his and their tongues engaged in a battle, slick muscles eliciting moans and grunts of pleasure as their hands explored skin hidden underneath clothes.

Bellamy rolled them around until Clarke was under him and he yanked her shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. He stopped kissing her for a moment to take in her black and red lacy undergarment before he sealed his lips over hers, a growl of approval wringed from his throat.

He unbuttoned her shorts and when his hand touched lace, he looked down to confirm his suspicions.

“Matching?”

His deep, velvet drawl send shivers down Clarke’s spine and wet heat pooled between her legs.

“Matching.” Her answer was no more than a gasp as he slipped his hand under her shorts and over her knickers, his palm cupping her womanhood and making her back arch off the ground.

She mewled in frustration when he refused her the friction she needed and her nails left angry red lines in her haste to divest him of his shirt.

Bellamy complied with her wish and pulled back to get rid of his shirt and jeans; he tugged her shorts off as well and for few moments stood still to watch the play of the lights along her skin, her hair a golden halo around her head, her hands trying to reach him without her back leaving the blanket.

She was a temptation he never wanted to resist, so he slipped between her open legs and kissed her until they both were trembling with _want_ and _need_ ; need to feel more skin, need to be closer, need to be together as _one_.

“ _Bellamy_.”

Her mouth was the sweetest nectar he had the pleasure of tasting and her skin was ambrosia, divine in its own way.

He spared few seconds to admire the way the delicate bra hugged her perfect breasts and then he unhooked it; words of love and devotion left his lips between licks and bites and kisses, and her sighs and moans of pleasure were the only music he wanted to hear.

Bellamy licked the sweat off her abdomen and marked her hipbones; his fingers teased the elastic band of her kickers until her hand grasped his and pushed it under the lace material and to her wet hot core.

His fingers teased her until she was nearly sobbing with pleasure and begging for release. The scent of her arousal and her pleas were more than enough for him to push the flimsy barrier aside and sink into her heat. 

Her hands clenched around his biceps, nails digging in the muscles there, but Bellamy only had eyes for the beautiful curve of her neck as she arched her back and angled her hips to meet him trust for trust.

He kissed and bit and licked the creamy expansion of skin until there was no doubt that the celestial creature writhing in pleasure under him was taken; Clarke was _his_ and his alone. 

Bellamy kept the tempo nice and slow, every stroke hitting that bundle of nerves inside of her and when she kissed him filthy and desperate and moaned “ _please, Bellamy, please_ ” against his lips, he pushed harder and faster until she was drunk with the ecstasy of her release. He followed right after and nearly collapsed on top of her, his head pillowed on her chest as her hands caressed his back.

When he got enough energy he rolled on his back, taking Clarke with him and laying her on top of him. He kissed the top of her head and played with her hair.

Her satisfied hum had him smiling.

“Good?”

Clarke turned to look at him.

“Well,” she got that mischievous look in her eyes, “I think you can do better.”

“Oh?” He smirked at her and took her challenge. “Well, the night is still young. Maybe we should go inside and use a _proper_ bed; I’ll show you _better_ then.”

She bit her lip to hide her grin but her eyes still sparkled.

“Catch me if you can.”

She kissed him until he was dizzy with pleasure and then escaped his arms, leaving him feeling suddenly cold and empty, snatched her ( _his_ ) shirt and the rest of her clothes and ran to the house.

There, she stopped to give him a sassy wink over her shoulder as she disappeared into the darkness of their home.

Bellamy laughed at her antics, pulled his jeans on, took the blanket with him and disposed of the empty food cartoons in the kitchen before going after his wife.

The chase was on.


	9. You are my sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zooxzoo asked: Congrats on 100 followers~~~~~~~ prompt: Bellarke-you are my sunshine... Luv your works as always;)

His head throbbed with pain and the world danced in front of his eyes.

The Reapers had been ruthless in their chase and had managed to split him from Clarke.

As luck had it, Bellamy evaded them long enough to notice the opening to a cave hidden under the evergreen bushes of the forest. But in his haste to get there before his pursuers, he slipped on the wet ground and fell down the dark tunnel, hitting his head somewhere along the way.

Now, he was bleeding and feeling sluggish, his limbs were heavy and the darkness around him was so dense he could probably slice it with his knife, which after a careful check had also conveniently gotten lost in his tumble.

His walkie-talkie had been smashed under his weight and the only thing Bellamy could rely on was his rifle and the two bullets he had left in the magazine.

But the darkness around him was nothing compared to the darkness behind his lids that threatened to consume him and drown him under the false lull of sleep and that Bellamy desperately tried to fend off.

He was stranded in an unknown cave, all alone, the Reapers were somewhere out there looking for him and he had no idea what had happened to Clarke.

_Clarke_.

The panic for her well-being kept him awake for a while longer but it was a lost battle and Bellamy lost consciousness.

He was aware of something shaking him and screaming in his ear long before he could find the strength to open his tired eyes.

And when he did he was nearly blinded by the sudden flood of light. Everything was this sharp contrast of dark and light and Bellamy had to blink the tears away from his eyes. 

_Who let the sun in?_

A shadow loomed over him and Bellamy felt his gaze drawn towards the person.

The light of the torch was reflected by her golden hair and found a home in her concerned blue eyes and suddenly the cave seemed little warmer, little safer.

“Clarke?”

Her hands were shaking as she checked him over and turned his head to the side to inspect his injury. He winced when the black dots came back with a vengeance but didn’t pull away from her.

Belatedly, he was aware that she had been talking the whole time. Little things like “I’m here, Bellamy”, and “We’re going to be alright”, “I called for help”, “Shh, and let me see.”, “ _I’ve got you._ ”

And he wanted to ask so many things – was she alright? What had happened? The Reapers? How had she found him?

But instead of that, a memory emerged from the depths of his mind and Bellamy could hear the soft voice of his mother as she sang him to sleep those dreadful first years of his existence - _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey, you never know, dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away_...

And as Clarke bandaged his head and urged him to stay awake, have a sip of water and fired a million question per minute to keep him conscious, Bellamy came to realise that somehow, somewhat Clarke had became his sunshine. Despite the pain he turned his head to really look at her and smile, clutching her hand tightly in his.

She had become important to him.

And that was scary and liberating because it gave him a drive to fight and survive like no other. He had found that one person that could always make him go forward, do better and forget about ever giving up.

_Please don’t take my sunshine away._

She smiled back.


	10. Unexpected endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous said: Congratulations on your 100 followers. Can you write a modern bellarke?

“Your car broke?”

Clarke sighed and rubbed her nose under her sunglasses.

“Yes, dad, for the last time my car broke down in the middle of nowhere and nothing you’ve told me before did something to fix it.”

She waved her hand around glaring at the smoke rising from beneath her car’s hood.

“Okay, easy there, baby girl, I’ll call for a tow truck to come pick you up. Tell me where you are.”

She ended the call soon after and threw her phone back in the car.

Today was not her day.

First, she broke her favorite mug in the morning while making coffee, coffee that she never got to really drink because she spilled most of it over her new dress shirt. Then she had to change clothes and ran late for a meeting, where her stupid boss took great delight in trying to humiliate her, and now, on her way back home, her car died.

Fucking perfect.

And it was only Wednesday.

Forty-five minutes later and she was ready to commit murder and it was only her fantasy for a long bubble bath and a big glass of wine that still kept her sane (and the one where she slowly tortured the mechanic guy).

Just as she was about to call the tow truck company – for the third time in the past ten or so minutes – the sound of tires made her look up and she finally spotted the vehicle she had been waiting for.

“It was about time.” She laced her words with as much poison as she could.

The unfairly attractive guy that opened the door of the truck and made his way to her just smiled and unashamedly checked her out.

Clarke huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Well? Get on with it.”

He had the balls to laugh at her and his lips stretched in a smirk when he caught her enraged expression.

“Easy there, princess. I’ve got everything under control.”

He may be tall, dark and handsome but Clarke didn’t let that blind her for his obvious arrogance. No matter how distracting the muscles of his arms were.

She just arched her eyebrow and stared at him.

Unfortunately, her cold indifference only seemed to amuse him further.

He lifted the hood of her car and when the smoke cleared away he took a look.

“Your engine is busted. There’s nothing I can do about it here. I have to take your car back to the garage and see if it’s fixable or if you’ll need a new one.”

He closed the hood and Clarke closed her eyes in defeat.

Great. Another bill to the pile.

She didn’t get paid enough for this bullshit.

“Hey, lighten up, princess. Look at the bright side.”

Gosh, even his voice was amazing and Clarke hurried to open her eyes before her imagination took her places where she didn’t want to be (right now at least).

“You get to ride with me.”

Clarke was pretty sure the vein in her forehead twitched.

Some people had no shame at all.

She refused to grace him with an answer to that. Clarke took her bag from her car, threw her keys at him and went to sit in the tow truck.

His chuckles echoed her steps.  

But as she watched him work in mirror she had to admit that he had a point – her awful, horrible day ended with an eye candy that was set on getting in her panties.

And who knew, if he stepped up his game Clarke might actually re-think her decision to make his life miserable.

After all, her night could only get better.


	11. Tinsel in the summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jonthekhaleesi said: Congrats on 100 followers! How about a bellarke prompt word: mistletoe :)

Clarke sneezed as she moved yet another box from her way.

The attic was as dusty as she remembered it to be.

“Mom, are you sure it’s in here?”

“It’s there. Keep looking.” Came the answer from below.

She was breathing in five years of dust and spider webs and moving boxes that hadn’t seen the sunlight since forever, and all that for some albums from the time when she was a baby.

Baby albums.

She sneezed again.

God, this sucked.

She propped the box she was holding on one of the upturned chairs, blew most of the dust away and sliced the tape with the snap-off blade she had in her jeans’ back pocket. Opening the flaps of the box, Clarke was greeted by sparkling bright green and blue tinsels.

She blinked and looked at the front of the box again – the faded red marker that outlined the word _baby things_ was still there. Except the fact that there were no baby things in the box, _at all_.

She pulled the colourful tinsels out only to encounter more Christmas decorations – fairy lights and silver cones, little red-nosed reindeers, popcorn garlands and garish starts, Santa Clause figurines and even a kit for a ginger bread house.

And no baby albums.

Clarke pushed away the baby-things-turned-Christmas-stuff box away and grabbed the next box named _baby toys_.

The result was the same – more tinsels, these ones even bathed her in silvery mist, a tiny fake Christmas tree, few red and green candles and few branches of mistletoe.

As expected, the third box – _Clarke’s baby clothes_ – brought forth even more wintery decorations (and a box of chocolates that Clarke wasn’t touching under any circumstances).

There was definitely a pattern here.

Clarke looked around the attic once more and spotted the boxes she was looking for in the other end – _Christmas decorations_. It was worth a shot.

She sneezed two more times until she reached them and her skin itched from the dust, not to mention the spider web she nearly walked into and she was pretty sure a spider that size shouldn’t exist, _ever_.

She cut the tape and...jackpot! Baby clothes! And on the bottom of the box she found the albums.

Clarke couldn’t help but open one of them and her fingers stroked the faded old pictures.

“Your mother told me I would find you here.”

The voice startled her and Clarke whirled around to see Bellamy poking the tinsel.

“Hey,” she smiled at him, “when did you get here?”

“Just a minute ago.” He pushed the box with the Christmas decorations out of his way and ducked under one of the supporting beams. “And why are you in this...charming place?”

Clarke rolled her eyes at his dramatization.

“My mom was telling Octavia about the princess party she threw me for my fifth birthday and your lovely sister insisted on seeing pictures. That’s why I’m here.” She indicated the mess around her, waving the album around.

His lips curled with amusement. “Princess party?”

Clarke fought down the blush from his teasing. “Don’t even start.”

Bellamy put his hands up in a “I surrender” gesture and tried to adopt an innocent look. Clarke sighed knowing that was a lost battle and gathered all four of the albums in her arms, closing the box when she was done.

When she turned around she nearly collided with Bellamy’s chest and only his hand on her elbow stopped her fall back.

He smirked at her.

“What?”

Bellamy tipped his head back and Clarke followed his movement to see one of the mistletoes branches hanging from the supporting beam where apparently Bellamy had managed to make it stay.

“Really? It’s not even Christmas.”

He shrugged and wrapped his hands around her waist. “When did that stop you?”

Her laugh got muffled by his lips on hers but Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to complain, after all, kissing Bellamy was one of her all time favourite things. He licked his way inside her mouth and she relished the way his tongue explored every nook and cranny, making pleasant shivers slide down her spine.

When they separated he licked her lips, chasing her taste and flashed her way his customary mischievous smile.

“Ready to go, _princess_?”

Clarke groaned and let her head fall against his solid frame. He was never going to let her live this down. She might as well make the best of it.

“Lead the way kind sir.”

And he did but not before pocketing one of the smaller mistletoes.

Not that he needed an excuse to kiss her but it was fun and they could use the practice; after all, Christmas was a whole five months away.


	12. Cupcakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> racanai said: Congratulations on 100 followers! The first thing that came to my mind when you asked for prompts: cupcakes! :3

“Bellamy, no.” Clarke slapped his hand away without taking her eyes off the frosting.

He narrowed his eyes playfully at her and contemplated the chance to successfully sneak a cupcake away from her.

“C’mon, princess, you’ve already made a dozen of them. One less in not going to hurt.”

She put down the bowl with the frosting and let the knife drop in the sink.

Her exquisite blue eyes pinned him in place.

“That’s what you said about the last cupcake you ate, as well as for the one before that. At the rate you’re going, there will be no cupcakes left for the party and you know how O gets.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and glanced at the tray with the fully finished fresh cupcakes – his sister could be so dramatic if she happened to miss some of Clarke’s famous baking treats – but Clarke moved in front of it and obscured his view, a smile dancing along her full lips.

“No.”

Bellamy huffed.

“I’m not a dog.”

She laughed and moved close enough for Bellamy to put his hands on her hips and feel the warmth of her body.

“I never said you were.”

“But you implied it.”

Her frame shook with silent laughter. “Did I?”

Bellamy dropped all pretenses and tugged her closer, nearly growled the “ _yes_ ” against her lips before crashing his mouth against hers and robbing her of her breath.

Clarke clutched his shoulders and gasped when he bit her lip before soothing it with his tongue.

Only when he was truly satisfied with how thoroughly ravished she looked did Bellamy let her go.

“Go finish. We need to go soon.”

She shivered when his hands fell from her back but Bellamy’s smug smile didn’t stay for long because she reached her hand and petted his curly locks.

“Good boy.” Amusement sparkled in her gaze.

He mock glared at her but didn’t say anything and let her go back to her frosting.

It was only later, when Clarke did the final count, that she realised one cupcake was missing.

“ _Bellamy!_ ”


	13. On the battlefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> parttimesloth said: Congrats! How about: bellarke + when they realised they were in love with each other

His gaze found his sister – acting like the katana master she wished to be – protecting Jasper who was busy dragging Monty to safety; Raven was taking down target after target and Finn was using a sturdy branch to knock the Grounders that escaped her aim.

The only person that was unaccounted for was Clarke and Bellamy tried to keep calm and find her, _alive_.

He took down two Grounders and injured a third when he caught glimpse of her blond hair – she was two hundred meters away from his position, hidden behind a rock and standing down to a fallen person, a person that looked suspiciously like his second-in-command.

But his relief was short-lived because a Grounder spotted her turned back and made his way to her unsuspecting form.

“Clarke!”                         

It was too loud and she didn’t hear him.

The first bullet missed its target but the next two hit dead on and the Grounder fell as Bellamy hurried to her side.

 “Are you crazy?”

Her shocked blue eyes and frazzled hair put a stop on his tirade. Her hands were covered in blood where she was putting pressure on Miller’s left leg.

“We need to get him out of here.” If she was afraid she didn’t let it show. “All of us. _Now_.”

A string of profanities left his mouth as he kneeled next to her to help her stop the bleeding. The wound looked bad and Miller was pale but Clarke was determined and Bellamy knew there was no dissuading her.

And even if he planned on it he didn’t get the chance because in the next second a Grounder yanked her hair, lifted her in the air and closed his hand around her throat.

Bellamy reached for his rifle but a second Grounder tackled him and an axe brushed the shell of his ear leaving an angry red trail behind.

Clarke tried to kick her attacker but her air supply wasn’t enough for a proper struggle.

Bellamy pulled the axe from the ground and buried it deep in the chest of his attacker. He didn’t even wait for the body to drop before he lifted his gun and aimed for the Grounder’s head. It was little off-mark but close enough for him to loosen his hold on Clarke and fall on his feet.

Bellamy used the back of his gun to take him out and dropped next to the struggling for oxygen Clarke. Her neck was dotted with red and purple shadows in the form of fingers and Bellamy felt the rage surge inside of him.

She gripped his arm tightly as he ran his hands along her bruised neck and tried to help her breathe easier.

How close he had came to losing her, just a second later and she would have been gone, right in front of his eyes, and he would have been powerless to help her.

He couldn’t do this without her.

And she would have left him without even knowing.

Life on Earth was too short for regrets.

“What would I do without you?” he brushed her tears away. “Don’t you know I love you? You’re forbidden from leaving me behind.”

She gulped air greedily and smiled shakily at him. “Silly Bella..my, I lo’e yo..u too.”

And he wanted to laugh, how fitting – them confessing on the battlefield.

“I say about damn time but can you do this later?” Miller deadpanned from behind them and then, _then_ Bellamy laughed.


	14. His sister's blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> karly605 said: So I've asked like two other people to write this but NOW I found u write too so if you would take the time I would appreciate it a bunch! (I was sort of listening to Stay With Me by Sam Smith at the time) Prompt: Octavia dies in front of The 100 from someone/ something and Bellamy becomes an emotional wreck. Clarke checks up on him and they argue about their feelings on what happened early and then their feelings for each other. Eventually Bellamy asks Clarke to stay with him. (Thanks!)

It was like somebody flicked a switch – her eyes dimmed, her breath hitched, her black hair was a halo of darkness contrasting all too much with her suddenly unnaturally pale skin, the hand holding her sword fell limp to her side as she looked down to gaze at the blade that had pierced her chest with unsettled astonishment.

Even now Bellamy could hear her chocked off pained grunt, he could see clearly as day her still, frozen frame and the blood that had blossomed like a poisonous red flower over her shirt.

Between one breath and the next he was running towards her, gun disposed once he was out of bullets, knife buried deep in the throat of an incoming Grounder, hands bloodied and dirtied with his desperate struggles to reach her in time.

But time was something he never had.

Her legs gave way just as he was nearing her and Bellamy went down with her, his fingers buried deep in her jacket’s sleeves, holding her upright.

“ _Octavia_.” Her name fell from his lips like a silent prayer, a plea for strength, for hope, _for life_ , for more fucking time.

Bellamy gently pushed her hair out of her face and tipped her head back.

A small drop of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth and Bellamy hurried to wipe it away, his hands shaky and treacherous with their clumsiness. Her eyes met his – open, scared, glassy with unleashed tears and Bellamy had to fight back his sobs.

His chest hurt as if he was the one being impaled by the rusty blade, his eyes burned as he let the tears flow freely, completely helpless to stop them; he was gasping for oxygen, anxiety and fear gripping his heart in an iron hold and _squeezing_.

Her eyes, once so full of laughter and mischief, now too full with pain and resignation, stared at him, right into his soul, and broke him bit by bit. Her hand, painted crimson by her own blood, cupped his cheek and Bellamy clasped his hand over hers, holding her close, never letting go.

Octavia. She was his sister. His responsibility.

And he had failed her.

“Hey, brother.” Her voice was weak and she swallowed to clear her throat. “Guess this is it, huh?” Her lips tried to stretch in a smile but all she managed was a pained grimace.

“Please no, _no_.” The tears blurred his vision and he hastened to brush them away, Bellamy couldn’t afford to miss a single second, not when he was trying to memorize every single flicker of emotion in her eyes, not when he was trying to commit her to his memory.

Not when they both knew.

 _No_.  

“It’s okay.” Octavia let more of her weight rest on him and Bellamy cradled her in his arms, mindful of the blade that was still lodged in her chest and hating every moan of agony that rolled off her lips.

Bellamy rocked them back and forth, blind for the fight around them, deaf for the screams of the dying, his world revolved solely around Octavia.

And she was slowly fading away in his arms.

“I promised to take care of you. _I promised_.”

Her chuckle was overshadowed by her coughing fit as more blood painted her lips dark red. Her fingers convulsed against his face and Bellamy tightened his grip.

“You did f-fine.” She shuddered and Bellamy hunched closer, protecting her body with his.

Too late.

“H-hey.” Tears were running down her face, leaving clean traces behind on her otherwise dirty cheeks. “It’s okay.”

_No, it’s not._

“Ther..e’s no p-pain anymore.”

Bellamy wept harder as the agony clawed apart his being.

“Promise m-me th..at we’ll mee-t aga’n.”

He bit back the shout that was threatening to burst from his throat and nodded.

“Say i-it.”

“We’ll-“ Bellamy’s body shook with the effort, with the pain, with the _loss_. “We’ll meet again.”

She blinked, slow and languid, like she had the whole time in the world, and Bellamy wanted to scream at her not to close her eyes, not now, not ever. “See? We’ll m-meet again. B-but no..t too so’n.”

Octavia smiled one last time and Bellamy traced her mouth with his thumb.

Then, _then_ he screamed until his throat was bleeding, until his voice was hoarse, until his tears ran dry and there was nothing left of him but an empty shell.

He was still empty, especially now when looking at her grave, missing her teasing, her frowns, her anger, hungering after the sparkle in her eyes, her smug smile, her smart retorts, wishing for her presence, for her comfort, for her embrace.

Oh, how he had failed her.

“Bellamy.” The soft voice broke him out of his dreams.

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

Clarke.

Ever present, ever brave, ever strong Clarke who was here to try and lessen his guilt and mend his heart; what a silly girl she was, he had no heart, not anymore, not since it burned cold when Octavia’s stopped beating.

Clarke hovered uncertainly behind him but she didn’t leave and Bellamy wanted to sigh, he had no energy, no patience for what was to follow.

“Bellamy-“ He rose to his feet and brushed past her, his shoulder bumping hers, _hard_ , making her stumble back.

But her arm shot out and her fingernails sank in his upper arm and strangely the pain grounded him.

She was persistent; he was going to give her that.

“Stop, just stop for a moment.” Clarke was close to begging and Bellamy stood still. “You can’t keep going on like this. You can’t disappear in the middle of the night and be gone for days only to return with new bruises and wounds and more blood than I can imagine. You can’t-“

He jerked his hand away from her fingers and turned on his heels to face her.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Her mouth closed shut and for few blissful moments Bellamy thought the conversation was over.

“We all lost-“

His fingers clenched painfully tight around her wrist as he pulled her harshly to Octavia’s grave.

“That down there is my sister, _my fucking sister_ , Clarke. Not a stranger I didn’t know until two months ago, not a friend, not a passing crush, but my own flesh and blood that I looked after for the past seventeen years. Don’t talk to me about loss.” His words were biting and meant to hurt and that was exactly what they did. “I fucking failed her and she paid the price. If killing the bastards that took her from me is the only way I can have her back, then so be it.”

Blue eyes met his and Bellamy had to steel his heart against Clarke’s sadness.

“We _all_ miss her, Bellamy. More than you think.”

“She is dead _because of me_.”

“And _we_ are alive because of _you_.”

Bellamy broke her gaze and pushed her back towards the camp, he was being meticulously careful compared to the way he had grabbed her before.

“Go back, Clarke, you don’t belong here. “

Here; in the dark, in the shadows, in the blood and in the regret, in the mistakes and the pain; here, that was all that was left of his world.

She laughed, a high pitched and eerie sound, chilling to the bones, and her features twisted in something dark that didn’t belong.

“We’re at war, Bellamy. I’m either here or there.” She gave a sharp nod to the graves. “There’s no middle ground.”

He scoffed but didn’t rebuke her, she was right after all.

She came closer and her hand went up and brushed his cheek, in a move similar to what Octavia had done and Bellamy blinked back tears.

“What are you fighting for? _Who_ are you fighting for? Because if it’s for the dead, then we’re all doomed, Bellamy.”

“And who are _you_ fighting for?”

Her fingers brushed through his unruly hair and Bellamy leaned unconsciously towards her.

“I’m not. I chose to live. I’m living for me, and for Jasper and Raven, for Monty and Finn. For Wells’ wishes and Charlotte’s mistakes, for Atom’s bravery and Roma’s loyalty, for Octavia’s smile. _I’m living for you_.”

Her words echoed in his head and his heartbeat escalated, nervous fluttering erupted in his stomach and his palms got sweaty.

He looked at her, for the first time he truly looked at her and was at a loss for words at what he saw – her blond hair was matted with dirt and tangled beyond recognition, her blue eyes stared earnestly at him, filled with hurt and compassion, under them dark circles betrayed her fatigue, her frame was sagging under all the weight she was carrying on her shoulders, her hands were littered with scratches and blood was hiding under her fingernails, and yet here she was, pulling him along with her to the light.

“Why?”

Her smile was heartbroken but there, a warm safe blanket he could count on.

“You know why.”

“ _I killed her_.” His voice wavered and suddenly there were arms around his waist and a warm body against his, holding too tight, but not enough.

Bellamy hesitated for a moment and then he was clutching at her as if she was his way out of this deep hole; and she was.

“No, you raised her and cared for her; you looked after her and loved her. You were her big brother and you were next to her in the end. That’s all that matters.”

He hid his sobs in her hair and she let him, encouraged him.

“It won’t get easier, it never does. But we’ll go on, for them, _for her_ ; we owe them at least this.”

And he believed her, oh how he believed her. Clarke was real, she was warmth and safety, she was compassion and steel, she was forgiveness and logic, she was the reason his blade was still so sharp and his bullets so unrelenting.

She gave and gave and gave and he took and took and took.

_Who are you fighting for?_

“You.”

Dark hair was replaced by blond strands; the dead made room for the living and Octavia welcomed the change with a smile.

Bellamy pulled back.

“Stay.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

Their lips met in a bruising kiss.

And Bellamy gave back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, I have an idea to write some Halloween specials; check this [post](http://mercuryslunacies.tumblr.com/post/98462042536/the-100-halloween-week) for more information.


	15. Don't get sticky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time you get to see slightly awkward!Bellamy and some innuendos.

“Bellamy! Careful!”

He snorted, brows drawn together in concentration and forehead wrinkled.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“You have to be gentler. Do it slowly. Here.” Clarke grabbed his hand, her fingers slotting between his and guided palm over smooth skin. “See? It all about easing your way up bit by bit; be patient, think of the end result.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes at her – not that she saw him – and thrust his other hand forward. “Get me the tube, will you?”

She turned around to look at him and frowned.

“You said you wanted to try this. If you’re not feeling up to the task, we can always stop and do what we usually do.”

Her delicate but strong fingers combed through his curly hair and the sure soft movement soothed some of his fears.

“No, its okay, I want to try.”

His small smile was rewarded with a chaste kiss on the lips and she passed him the small bottle. Bellamy opened the cap and squeezed some of the gooey lotion in his hand. Clarke let him work the mess into the silky unblemished pale skin but Bellamy noticed the way she was biting her lip as she watched him over her shoulder. She hesitated for a moment and Bellamy stopped.

“What?” He looked at his hand. “Am I not doing it right?”

Her teeth worried her lower lip some more. “You might want to use less of that...next time.”

Bellamy’s heart pounded with the promise of a next time. His fingers were sticky and glistening under the glow of the lamp and he brought his hand closer to his face. It smelled surprisingly pleasant – of honey and something else – and Bellamy’s tongue darted out to taste it.

Clarke’s laugh rang clear in the otherwise silent room as she giggled at his disgruntled expression.

“Seriously, Bellamy?”

“It smells like honey!” But his half-hearted protest sounded weak even to his ears.

He waited for Clarke’s body to stop shaking and awaited his next instructions.

She pointed and he blinked in confusion.

“That? But, it’s _white_!”

“As if you haven’t seen white things before.” Bellamy winced at her annoyed tone and did what she guided him to. “Now what?” She had read more about this situation, and as much as Bellamy hated to admit it, Clarke had more experience than him in this, a fact that irked him to no end.

She reached to fetch him a tissue and he couldn’t help but admire the complex play of shadows and light upon her skin. Her mouth was stretched in a small, private smile – just for him – and her eyes shone with affection and love.

He was so lucky.

Hands no longer smeared with different substances, he advanced to the next step.

“Now easy, don’t rush it, just let the body guide you, pay attention to the signs.” Clarke’s voice had gone down a notch and surprisingly, it helped him keep his hands steady.

“Like this?”

“Little to the left, yes, just like this.” An almost quiet hum of approval and she was back to praising him. “Good, now pull and push back again.”

He did, and with a final detail put to place, he drew back to observe his task.

Baby Max – his delightful nephew, barely a year old – was blinking back at him with his big blue eyes, little fists clenched around his favourite wolf plushie, and a fresh diaper, courtesy of Bellamy, keeping his behind dry and – for now – clean. A half empty bottle of Johnson’s baby lotion stood to the left of his small kicking feet, next to the baby wipes and the baby powder and in front of the pack of diapers.

“So, how do you feel about your first diaper change?” Clarke teased him and her sharp elbow poked his side.

He tugged her blond hair in warning and smirked back.

“Admit it, I was a natural.”

Her grin was wide as his hands sneaked around her waist.

“I’m not so sure; you looked pretty terrified at one point.”

“Never.” His defence was supposed to be defiant little speech but instead it was a single breathy whisper against her neck.

He was just about to lick his way inside her mouth when Max gurgled happily behind them.

Bellamy sighed and turned to pick up the baby in his arms.

“I don’t know how Jasper and Octavia do it.”

“Do what?” Clarke was putting order to the changing table.

“Have sex of course.”

“Bellamy!” The pack of wipes hit his thigh.

“Max is a baby, Clarke, relax.”

“With your luck that will be his first word and I promise you I’ll stay back and watch when Octavia comes to have your hide.”

He shook his head and smiled at Max.

“You wouldn’t do that to your favourite uncle, will you?”

Bellamy ignored Clarke’s “you’re his _only_ uncle” and watched as Max tried to get his mouth around the wolf’s muzzle; maybe he should tone his language a bit.

Max spluttered and spit flew everywhere.

Bellamy winced.

Yeah, maybe he really should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the request was - cloverjean said: congrats!!!!!!! promt: babysitting! (or trying to)
> 
> \-----
> 
> so yes, this happened, lol. ♥


	16. Stroking the fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: Can u show us the reward that Clarke gets and I love ur teasing keep doing that!!!
> 
> \-------
> 
> Part 4 of the Military 'verse. 
> 
> Mature content ahead.

Her ribs protested the movement when Clarke lifted her arms to get rid of her sweat-soaked shirt. She looked at her skin as her fingers gingerly touching the multi-coloured art that covered her right side.

That was going to hurt for quite a while.

Tristan – unlike Bellamy – didn’t care about moderating his strength when sparring; if you couldn’t take it, then you’re not for here, or so would he say.

The bruise would most probably bloom even brighter tomorrow morning. Clarke made her way to the shower and her muscles and joints opposed the few steps separating her from the desperately wanted hot water, and she knew that wasn’t going to be her only discolouration.

The adrenaline was still running wild through her body, riding her blood in scorching waves of _fight or flight_ , and narrowing her world to the rapid pulsing of her heart.

She took off her pants and kicked off training shoes; her sports bra and boy shorts completed the pile of clothes on the ground. Whatever, she was going to put them all in the wash anyway.

The water was hot against her heated body and her bruises burned.

But the pain was good because she had fucking _earned_ it.

She had made Tristan take back all the insults and flippant remarks he had ever made about her. Logically, she knew that he had the same shit behaviour with everyone, yet it still deeply irked her and unsettled her.

Clarke had gone on that stage with her head held high, steady hands and clear mind, and when the gong had gone off, she had transformed into something wild and dangerous, nimble and unpredictable, calculating and sly; something so beautifully sharp that it had been frightening in its celestial allure.

For every hit he had landed on her, Clarke had landed one back. Even now, she was still high on the feeling of deep satisfaction when she had managed to catch the surprise in his eyes, the slight hesitation of his fists as he tried to recalibrate the new information and connect it to the person in front of him.

Spending five weeks with Bellamy had given Clarke an edge she never had before – the freedom to stop overthinking and doubting and just let her body guide her the way she subconsciously knew was the most optimal approach to the problem she had at hand.

In this case, her problem had been Tristan.

Clarke had two ways of winning the match – either she could knock him on his back, or she could push him out of the ring designed for a fighting arena.

She had gotten good but not good enough for the first option.

Tristan might have been taken aback by her unexpected resilience but he was a force to be reckoned with on a good day, and positively feral on a bad one; plus, he had _years_ of experience, his body was just another well-oiled machine.

But Clarke was smart and she had anticipated even that. She had let him push her back, she took blows she could have evaded and lured him to think that her fuse had been too short to land more than a handful of lucky hits. And _then_ she had turned the match around, twisting on the soles of her feet, her hands locked securely behind his head, spinning him in the process. Gravitation had done the rest and Tristan had taken one small step outside the circle.

Just enough for Clarke to claim victory.

And the flash of respect he had let her see in his eyes was the cherry on the top.

Clarke adjusted the water temperature and grabbed the bottle of shampoo. It felt wonderful to wash the tension away, the perspiration off her skin, to stop and think for a moment, and to feel alleviated because she had passed, contrary to most people’s expectations, and she had done so with a _bang_.

She was still in the running for achieving her dream.

Clarke rubbed the lemon scented soap in her skin, deft fingers working on the knots in her complaining muscles and when the water washed the last soap bubbles off her body, she turned the shower off and got out.

She was just toweling her hair, a new pair of matching blue underwear on, when she felt the presence of another person behind her.

Clarke dropped the towel and swung her elbow back at her target, but the person was faster and stronger and quickly rendered her harmless – both her wrists were caught in one of his arms as he laid the other against her back and pushed her forward until her cheek rested against the cold tiles.

The scream for help got stuck in her throat when her nose picked up the distinctive smell of sandalwood.

“Bellamy, what the fuck!” She didn’t point the obvious fact that he was in the women’s changing room because he was clearly aware of it.

He chuckled against her ear, the sound appearing dark and amused, and he let more of his weight rest on her body and essentially trapping her against the wall.

The dual sensation – hot (his body slotted against hers) and cold (the chilled tiles) – threw her poor mind into overdrive. His mouth was blowing warm puffs of air against her neck and the skin there rose in goose bumps, confused by the sudden onslaught of firing nerves.

Bellamy kicked her legs apart and Clarke was helpless to stop him. (She wasn’t so sure she wanted to.)

He was fully clothed – she could feel the denim of his jeans against her bare legs and the soft material of his shirt, which was getting wet because of her dripping hair, against her back. That alone was enough to set fire to her blood, different than the fire from before.

This inferno was a ball of arousal, swiftly spreading through her body and enveloping her senses with the urgency to touch, to want, to take, _to have_. Her fingers twitched against the muscles of his abdomen but, as it was, Bellamy only tightened his grip and pushed his hips against hers, in between her open legs, until he fit snuggly against her ass, as if he belonged.

Clarke held her breath but he stood still, unnaturally still.

“Bellamy?”

He pushed his nose against her neck and laid one single gentle kiss.

“Tell me no.”

Her heart was a wild tattoo, trying to burst from her chest as the meaning behind his words became clear to Clarke.

Bellamy’s hips shifted and the denim dragged deliciously along her damp skin.

“God, Clarke, tell me no and I'll stop.”

He was giving her time to change her mind, Clarke realised; even with all the flirting they had done while sparring together, and the kiss that had happened almost six weeks ago, even with all the sparks that had been flying between the two of them since the very _beginning_ , he was still trying to give her a way out.

She licked her lips and took a deep breath.

“ _Yes_.” It was nearly a hiss with the way he let his body crush her against the tiles the moment the first letter fell from her lips.

He attacked her neck; there was simply no other word for it. He was single-minded in his quest to mark her as he licked and bit and soothed with his lips the smooth expansion of skin. His free hand circled her waist and wormed its way between the wall and her body, warm palm resting under her bruised ribs.

She tried to squirm and make him release her but she could barely move and _that_ made the situation even more intense, heat gathering between her legs, and a sudden deep ache in her gut.

“ _Bellamy_.” His mouth hovered next to her ear for a single beat of her heart and then he was pulling her back by her arms, manipulating her willing body so he could lick inside her mouth.

It was sloppy and awkward because of the angle, but his tongue was relentless as he forced his way in, curving over her teeth and twisting around her tongue, sucking on it until she moaned. Her finger grabbed fistfuls of his shirt as his hand ghosted over her bruise, traced the shape of her bra and ended around her neck, tipping her jaw back just enough to make everything easier, perfect for the kiss to turn wanting and desperate.

They drew apart for oxygen and Clarke shuddered with desire when she saw the shiny string of saliva connecting her lips to Bellamy’s. His piercing lust-blown brown eyes made her feel wanted, _craved_. She leaned for another control-shattering kiss and he ducked his head, lips eager to devour.

The intensity of their passion was getting higher and higher with every moan, every bite, every lick. Bellamy released his hold at last, and turned Clarke around, slotting his mouth against hers the moment her back touched the tiles.

Her hands pushed his shirt up and she dragged her nails down, feeling the play of his muscles as they clenched and then went slack when she traced them with the pads of her fingers. She moved to his back, touching the broad shoulders that she had admired countless times, before letting her hands fall to his firm ass and squeezed. His hips made a little aborted movement as if he couldn’t help it, and Clarke could feel him going hard against her inner thigh.  

He swallowed her approval with another kiss before turning his attention to her neck. The open-mouthed kisses he left on her skin were like small electrical charges turning her insides aflame. One hand pushed the right strap of her bra down her shoulder and the other pinned her hips in place when she tried to grind against him as he gave her another hickey.

“Ngh..” She combed her fingers through his hair and pulled him for a kiss before returning the favour and sucking her own mark below his ear.

Bellamy tipped his head to the side and gave her free reign, his groans doing nothing to hide his pleasure. Mindful of her ribs, Bellamy touched her flat stomach and one of his fingers dipped under the band of her underwear. She arched her body towards the touch and Bellamy applied more pressure, another two fingers sneaking in, until his hand was pushing her blue panties out of the way.

He swore loudly when he found out how wet and ready she was for him. Bellamy teased her clit with short but fast strokes until she was gasping his name, struggling to find more room in her lungs for air. His tongue sneaked into her open mouth as his finger sank into her heat and there was only pleasure. Bellamy’s rhythm was slow and through, so completely different from his frantic kisses. The second finger met no resistance and Clarke rocked eagerly against his hand. The third entered her accompanied by a slight burn but the pain got mixed with the pleasure when he curved his fingers just so and rubbed against that specials spot on her inner walls.

Clarke pulled away from the kiss, her hands digging in Bellamy’s arms, his legs the only reason as to why she was still standing and was not a melted heap on the floor.  

Bellamy breathed over her collarbones, forehead tucked against her shoulder as he watched the way her body pulled hungrily at his fingers.

Over the sounds of their laboured breathing, Clarke could hear the way his fingers would push in and out of her wetness and it was driving her insane; it should have been dirty but instead it only added to her arousal, fuelling her libido and making her mewl in pleasure.

He started laying kissed down her chest, tongue slipping under her bra, teasing her nipple into hardness, and continuing down, over her ribs, tickling on her navel, until he was kneeling between her legs.

Her vision was hazy and she pushed her body back towards the chilly tiles hoping for a threat of sanity but Bellamy robbed her even of that possibility when his clever tongue licked her clit. Clarke closer her teeth around her hand, trying, and failing, to muffle her excited shouts, the other hand shaking in its place in Bellamy’s hair, undecided if it should pull closer or push away.

Another minute and Clarke was shaking, the excitement was too much until it suddenly burst free from her and her fingers clenched in his hair. He eased her through the small after-shocks and then he pulled his fingers out and Clarke felt empty, hollow, she wanted him back.

Bellamy got up and she could only watch as he licked one of his fingers still glistening with her release and then he was kissing her and she could taste herself on his tongue. He couldn’t stop kissing her and Clarke matched his enthusiasm. He was still hard against her leg and Clarke was just about to pop open the button of his jeans when he caught her hand.

“ _Fuck._ ”

And then she heard them – few girls giggling outside the room, clearly headed their way.

Bellamy turned to face her, irritation and lust clear in his eyes, but there was affection and care in his touch when he cupped her cheek and leaned in for one last chaste kiss before pulling her panties back on.

“Come find me later.” He squeezed her fingers and smiled before ducking out of the room.

Clarke took a moment to compose herself and will her legs to work.

_What the fuck had just happened?_

The giggles drew closer.

Was this just another game for him? A reward?

She brushed her wet hair back.

But no, she shook her head; he had given her a way out, this was serious.

There was stickiness between her legs and cotton in her head.

Fuck, maybe she needed another shower.

And after, she would have to figure out how to proceed.


	17. Blow me a dandelion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> racanai said: One could think you've got enough to write with your halloween prompts. But since you asked for it: Bellarke + Unicorn! =)  
> (Unicorn:Our characters creating magic (real or imagined))

“Do I have to do this?”

Clarke gave him a glare over her shoulder, jars clinking together in her arms.

“We’ve already been over this, Bellamy. We’re doing it, end of discussion.”

Bellamy glared at the heavy grimoire in his hands, on top of which he was balancing four bowls and four candles.

“You’re sure this will work?”

The woods were dark and the only source of light was Clarke’s small flashlight, which was giving an eerie glow to the surrounding trees and roots; even the moon, which soon was going to be replaced by the morning sun, was sleeping on a night like this, when the evil was whispering just behind the veil.

Bellamy shook his head to get rid of the morbid thoughts and turned his attention to Clarke. He could see the frown on her face without having to look at her; her voice was enough of a give-away.

“There’s no reason it shouldn’t. The ritual we’re going to perform technically doesn’t exist, but the basics are the same like the others in the grimoire and its simple enough to work.”

Not exactly the encouraging words Bellamy was hoping for but at least she was being honest; he hated it when people tried to sugar-coat the truth and end up making the situation even worse.

“Here.” She came to a stop and her flashlight illuminated a decent-sized clearing, surrounded by some of the oldest and biggest trees Bellamy had ever seen; just perfect for their needs.

Clarke kneeled on the ground and propped her flashlight on a rock in a way that they could still see most of the clearing, and carefully put down the jars in her hands, with each label turned towards her. Bellamy was just as cautions putting down the grimoire and the bowls.

He watched her as she prepared for the ritual, rearranging twigs and rocks, whose places weren’t where she wanted them, and getting rid off of the ones she didn’t seem to need.

Then, using the compass she took out of her jacket’s pocket, she put down the four bows, one in each direction. The red, symbolising fire, was pointing east, artfully painted flames coming alive under the beams of the flashlight. The blue one for water went on the opposite side, and Bellamy still could feel the embossed water droplets along the surface of the bowl under his fingers; it was this strange phantom feeling but it was reassuring in a way. The earth bowl, which was made of rich brown clay, was set north, and the crystal bowl, representing air, Clarke put in front of Bellamy, in the south direction.

Next were the candles – four white candles sitting few inches behind the bowls, towards the centre.

While Clarke put them in their respective places and was busy trying to light them, Bellamy uncorked the jars. The gun powder went into the fire bowl; the blessed water was for the blue one, while the graveyard dirt went into the south one. The final bowl, the air, they left empty but for a single white feather.

In the centre of the circle he put the grimoire with the final jar on top of it.

“What’s inside?”

Clarke pocketed her lighter and looked at the jar.

“Grounded dandelion.”

He chuckled for a moment. “Really? We’re making a wish and you’re using dandelions? Shouldn’t we blow them for that to work?”

She rolled her eyes at him and joined him in the middle.

“It’s the intent that matters. Why, were you expecting something like chicken bones or rabbit feet?”

“Weren’t those for luck?”

Clarke punched him in the shoulder and he lifted his hands in surrender.

The pocket knife was cold in his sweaty hand as he unsheathed it from its leather case. It was made of silver, with a curved pointy tip, and an old latin words carved into the blade; the handle was wrapped in a soft black leather, with a single red gem on one side.

_Veritatem dies aperit._

Bellamy’s finger traced the words as he remembered Clarke’s translation – _day discloses the truth._

And the truth was exactly what they were seeking.

Time and time again they’ve been thrown together, they’ve hurt each other, they’ve moved as far as possible from each other, they’ve suffered from some unexplainable illnesses that only seemed to go away when they were with each other, but even when they were close, unexplainable incidents would happen and the last time Clarke nearly got hit by her falling chandelier, escaping the encounter with six stitches on her arm.

Enough was enough.

If this was some curse, some jinx they would find a way to end it, tonight.

“Are you ready?”

From this close Bellamy could see how pale she really was and he reached out to touch her shoulder. Her fingers clenched against his and she shook her head at his questioning gaze.

“I’ll be fine, Bellamy.” He didn’t ask for more.

The blade bit into his skin with no resistance and immediately blood started seeping from the wound. Bellamy passed her the knife and Clarke split her left palm open as well. They clasped hands and their blood mingled, becoming one, and drops of the crimson liquid slowly started to fill the dandelion jar.

They spoke as one. “We seek to know who we are. We seek to know what we are. We seek to know what our connection is. With the dying moon and the rising sun, we seek to know the truth.”

And as the first rays of the sun broke through the trees around them and filled the clearing, their blood painted hands started glowing with different coloured thin threads connecting and overlapping each other – purples and blues, sunny yellows and dark greens, pinks and oranges, the whole gamma of the rainbow was centered around their touching point. The air smelled of burned ozone, like just before a lighting, and Clarke’s hair was being ruffled by the unnatural wind.

Her blue eyes were wide with surprise and wonder, and a little bit of fear, so Bellamy squeezed her hand tighter and she squeezed back.

Bellamy had no idea how long they stood like that, entranced by the magic they were seeing and experiencing, surrounded by the smell of the forest and the sounds of the waking birds. But he felt it the moment it ended, even though one thread remained visible.

And Clarke, Clarke had this peculiar look on her face and Bellamy wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“What does it mean?”

She looked up as her hand slipped from his and Bellamy absently noticed that her hand had healed.

“It embodies the one thing we’ve been fighting all along – that we belong together.”

And he could see where the thread was connected to her finger, the exact same finger it was connected to his, and he knew what that was without a doubt.

The red string of fate.

It meant so much, yet not enough.

“Do you want it to mean that?”

Clarke tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

“We’ve been fighting it for so long that we might as well try.”

Bellamy smiled and intertwined their hands together again, soft thread entangled between their fingers.

Maybe Fate and Magic had a right.

Maybe it was time they listened.


	18. Stories told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon said: Bellarke soulmate prompt (Since it seems to be agreed upon that Bellamy would be into Roman and Greek history/Mythology): "According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." She's the head and he's the heart.

Sometimes it was hard not to lose hope.

Scratch that; every day was one endless dark battle.

A battle Bellamy was starting to lose, slowly but surely.

Everywhere he turned around there were faces – a bleak mass of people, moving from one direction to the next, mindless, mirroring each other in their soulless existence. Harping and biting at each other, pushing and pulling, manipulating and scheming, ugly in their quest for what they thought was greatness.

They were surrounding him, suffocating, draining away his dreams, his passion, his joy. He was stuck in a limbo with no exit.

His search was fruitless.

Just a dull grey colour – that was his world now.

The Gods were cruel.

Bellamy was aware of their nature and yet he still cursed the foundations of their very presence.

It was said that centuries ago when Olympus was still sitting celestially in the sky, gazing highly at the mere humans, that Zeus, the Sky Father, tore the human beings apart, splitting them in the middle in a way they could never be whole again.

So here he was, a child of the Sun looking for a child of the Earth so that he could feel complete again. Bellamy desperately craved to fill the hole in his chest, to chase away the loneliness, the doubts, the regret. He wanted to smile, to laugh, to feel joy and happiness, he wanted to shine upon his other half the same way the Sun each day caressed the Earth with its gentle warm rays.

But even that he couldn’t achieve.

Oh, and how he _looked_.

How hard he tried; optimistically at first, bursting with vigour and desire, ready to conquer the world and find his other half.

To find _her_ , the one.

But the days rolled past, and then the weeks, and the months turned into years and Bellamy felt the burden of his solitude weight more heavily upon his shoulders with every wasted moment he wasn’t spending with his better half.

It was tearing him apart, this emptiness, this misery, this cruelty.

It wasn’t fair.

The Gods were laughing at him.

But then, then maybe not all of them were.

Because like in the stories of old that told of Apollo showing mercy and sewing the humans up and the way they would still long for each other, Bellamy met _her_ on a completely ordinary day and his hope blossomed with bright pink colours.

At first, it was nothing more than a glance, really, a whiff of her perfume, the sweet innocent scent of lily of the valley soothing his heart and soul, a bump against his shoulder, soft golden strands teasing along his upper arm as she turned around to apologize.

She radiated colours and Bellamy was mesmerized by her beauty – in his once monochrome world now there were little tendrils of blue and green, shy dark lavender and a more bold red, persistent white shine pushing the gloom far away; it was as if a painter had dragged his brush along the multitude of colours he had on his palette and had made one long swipe across the canvas that was Bellamy’s life and suddenly there was his greatest masterpiece.

An unintentional whimper left his lips when she turned to continue on her way. The colours were threatening to go with her and sudden fear gripped Bellamy’s heart. Had he found her to only catch a glimpse of her and to never see her again?

Was Hera up there laughing or was it another trick of Aphrodite’s?

“Wait!” He called after her. She turned around and his breath was stolen by the intensity of the ever-changing blue of her eyes. “Can I- would you- coffee?” Bellamy never had felt so flustered before, never so unsure or afraid, but never so hopeful or eager either.

Her smile was a little quirk of her pink lips, a barely there stretch showing her amusement and surprise. She came towards him and his blood thundered in his ears, palms sweaty.

“I’m Clarke.” She offered her small pale hand to shake.

“Bellamy.” He offered her a smile of his own.

He took her hand in his and an electric current ran up his arm and awoke his whole body, heart singing with bliss and soul finally relaxing.

And judging by her astonished expression and the strong hold she kept on his palm she had felt it, too.

Even the mighty Zeus couldn’t keep them apart.

“Coffee.” Clarke smiled again.

They belonged to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably one of my favourites drabbles so far.


	19. Sprinting through the woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kingsbellamy said: congrats! Argent ;)   
> (Argent: Write a drabble where your muse and mine work out together/ train together.)

“Like this?”

The morning was bright and early, the sun just now breaking through the clouds in the sky and pushing more bright colours to replace the dark blue of the night.

Bellamy turned his attention back to Clarke just in time to see the final few stretches she made.

“Yeah, make sure you’ve warmed up your legs and ankles.”

The conditions on Earth were different from what they were familiar with. The air density was unlike that on the Ark and it took their systems a while to adjust; some still had problems breathing the air.

When Bellamy had first suggested that they should all do some physical exercises, both to get used to Earth’s atmosphere and to be in better shape to face the Grounders, he didn’t really expect to get much support without having to fall back on his stance of a leader. They were a bunch of teenagers after all, unceremoniously dumped on what for them was an alien planet and expected to survive without any preparations.

So it was a surprise when Clarke actually backed him up saying that it will do them good to get accustomed to their new home; it wasn’t like there was a way back to the Ark.

There were grumblings of course, and some whining and quite few loud complaint but Bellamy was fast to set those straight and now, every day a different group would do few laps close to the camp and some exercises Bellamy taught them.

Their run was slow at first, Clarke had to build a stamina; besides, running on Earth was a completely new experience compared to running on a treadmill in the training facilities on the Ark.

“How do you even know this stuff?”

He spared her a glance, taking note of the redness of her face and her unsteady breathing.

“Believe it or not I didn’t steal that guard uniform so that I could sneak on the dropship. I actually used to be one on the Ark.

“Really?” She got caught off by her surprise and nearly tripped over a fallen branch.

“Yes; you’re required to be in constant shape to be able to chase down the little hellions from Wing D when they decide to strip you of your equipment.”

Clarke laughed and few of the other delinquents running with them looked their way.

“I bet that happened to you.” She teased him and bumped her shoulder against his.

“On the first day of the job.” Bellamy had never felt so flustered before that incident, face red from the humiliation as he chased two 5 year old screeching boys, madly waving around his tele-com and electric stick. His party leader had laughed for a whole ten minutes before waving him off with a warning, tears of laughter at the corners of his eyes. “After that I checked out some physical training videos from the Old Age that were still saved on the server and made sure that I’m fast on my feet no matter the situation.”

“I can see it, you know,” Clarke chuckled and brushed some of the sweat off her forehead, “you, chasing after two little kids yelling at them to stop.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and upped the tempo of the run.

“Save your breath, you’re going to need it.”

“Oh, really? Because I’m doing fine so far.”

He snorted – only a look at her and he knew immediately that she was getting tired rather fast and her laboured breathing wasn’t helping her keep up the tempo he had set.

“Let’s see you then, princess, just how fast you can go.”

Bellamy broke into a sprint, Clarke’s shouted “ _Cheater!_ ” making the other snicker, as she ran to catch up to him.

He was actually a little amazed at how fast she took the distance between them and maybe a little proud at her stubbornness for never backing down from a challenge. Bellamy took pity on her after a while and came to a stop.

Clarke literally collapsed the moment she reached him, uncaring about the twigs and the leaves getting in her hair.

“You know,” she gasped between few breaths, “maybe I need some more practice; I can’t feel my legs.”

He laughed and then laughed some more when she levelled him with an annoyed glare, clearly unhappy by his steady breathing and the ability to move as if he hadn’t been running the past twenty minutes.

“You’ll get used to it.” Bellamy offered her a hand to get up.

“I’m not sure I want to get used to it.”

“You get quite a few benefits from it actually.”

She huffed and let him pull her to her feet, legs shaking with the effort to stay upright.

“Like what?”

“Well, more endurance, flexibility and good looks, if you know what I mean.”

She gaped at him and his innuendo.

“ _Men!_ ” She said it like a curse and stormed off, his smirk following her back to the camp.

Clarke had to admit he had a point.

But she still hated running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> running can be truly evil sometimes.


	20. Don't run little mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> racanai said: Allison. My muse is Jasper, yours is... Bellamy? Or Clarke? I'm curious what you make of this! :D  
> (ALLISON: Write a scene where your muse is hunting mine down)
> 
> Yo, mine is Bellamy. This turned little disturbing but I think you'll like it.
> 
> warnings for: implied torture, blood, serial killer, hinted character death (maybe)
> 
> \--- 
> 
> one without bellarke for a change, lol

Jasper’s blood turned cold.

Literally.

The wind was blowing against his face, his bare feet leaving bloody trails in the pristine snow, little icicles forming around his eyelashes and scratching at his open wounds.

He was shivering from the low temperature and the trickle of his blood against his matted with dirt hair made things even worse.

He had to get away.

Run faster, harder, _further_.

Or _he_ would catch up and then all of Jasper’s scheming would be wasted.

Bellamy had been careful, almost too careful. Always keeping him tied up and disoriented, nearly on the brick of starvation and with the least amount of water to keep him alive. He preferred his victims alive and cognitive he had said as he had made yet another red line across Jasper’s torso.

But Bellamy had grown overconfident, nobody had ever escaped or so he bragged, and Jasper knew that he was a skinny little thing, barely a match for Bellamy’s bulk and insanity. But while Jasper lacked muscles, he had brains.

So he begged and screamed and twisted in his chains the way he knew Bellamy would enjoy it all the while trying to come up with a plan, a route to escape this mad hole. He ignored the screams of the others, there was no use trying to help them, it only made things worse; Jasper knew from personal experience.

And then one day, _today_ , Bellamy had judged him broken, wasted, given up, and the shackles around Jasper’s wrists weren’t as tight as before. Bellamy’s first mistake of the night.

Leaving the door ajar so that he could go check on his other prisoners was his second.

Jasper was careful, heart beating wildly behind his ribcage, as he made his way out of the room, silent as a mouse on his feet, the little blood droplets the only trail he left behind. The main door had been locked but Jasper knew where Bellamy kept his keys and the rest was easy.

Here he was now, in the middle of nowhere, in some snowy forest with no place to go.

All he knew was that he had to get away.

It wasn’t easy with his blood soaked rags that were supposed to pass as clothes, and his feet were freezing cold, turning blue around the ages. His blood was pumping slower and slower and Jasper desperately tried to fight off the black spots from his vision; starvation had a price.

And then, then he heard it.

The crunching of snow underneath somebody’s boots.

 _His_ boots.

Jasper wanted to shout for help but his scream got stuck in his throat when he turned around and saw Bellamy few feet behind him – a psychotic grin splitting his face widely and a knife in his hand.

The blade glinted madly under the moonlight as Bellamy advanced forward and Jasper _ran_.

He knew he was being played with.

“Come now, little mouse, let’s go back.”

His lungs were burning from the effort and one of his legs was numb, slowing down his run to a child’s walk. Jasper’s tears were freezing before they were fully fallen from his eyes.

And then he saw it, there, few hundred feet away – the light of a car and a road that could save him.

Jasper doubled his strength, adrenaline pushing him over his limits and he heard Bellamy curse somewhere behind him as his hunter was forced to quicken his pace.

Jasper was almost there, just there, a few feet were separating him from the civilization and his salvation.

Something hard collided against his back and the two of them rolled down in a ditch next to the road.

The car passed them by with no notice and Jasper wept openly under the moon.

Bellamy grinned and leaned in to lick some of the dried blood on his face.

“Now, now, that’s not what good little mice, now is it?”

“Please,” Jasper’s voice was rough from the abuse, clenched tight from the fear. “Please don’t.”

“Shhh.” The knife moved closer and Jasper could feel it against his chilled skin. “Quiet now.”

It bit deep into the flesh.

And Jasper screamed.


	21. Stop and stare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon said: I know this isn't a drabble but Bellamy and Clarke ' you're my little sisters best friend but that shirt you borrowed from me looks really good on you, like really good' au

Bellamy passed through the living room and was on his way to the kitchen to grab a drink, maybe a beer if his mom had remembered to buy him some, when he did a double take.

There, on the on the beige carpet was sitting a girl he was quite familiar with. What was new was the shirt she was wearing. A shirt few sizes bigger, hanging off her left shoulder and showing pale skin, a shirt Bellamy immediately recognised as his.

She continued watching the show on the TV and tucked few rebellious blond strands behind her ear.

Drink long forgotten, Bellamy inched closer, some unexplainable urge churning in his stomach making him step closer.

“Octavia, c’mon, you’ll miss th-“ She turned around and her big blue eyes widened. “You’re not Octavia.”

Bellamy gave her a ‘you don’t say’ expression as he greedily memorised the way she looked in his shirt.

“I see you feel perfectly at home.”

Clarke blushed and fidgeted, fingers playing with the hem of the grey t-shirt.

“Yes, um,” she cleared her throat, “Octavia spilled coke on mine and I needed a change of clothes.”

“Oh?” He leaned against the back of the couch, in the perfect position to follow her every movement without her realising. “And she couldn’t give you something of hers?”

“Erm, well-“ The blush travelled down her neck and disappeared bellow the neckline on the shirt; Bellamy felt tempted to see just _how far_ it actually goes.

“Bell! Stop picking on Clarke!” Octavia made her way from the kitchen, holding a big bowl of popcorn. “Besides, my clothes don’t fit her.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at her friend’s lack of tact, already used to her wicked mouth.

He took a second glance at the blonde, more detailed than before and noticed indeed that Clarke was fuller in some areas than his sister, pleasantly so.

“Don’t have too much fun.” Bellamy stole some of their popcorn, deaf to his sister’s complains and decided to go back to his room. He had a lot to think about, like how O’s friend had grown up rather well and wasn’t she closer to 18 now?

“I’ll wash your shirt and I’ll give it back to Octavia.” Clarke shouted at his back.

“Don’t bother.” He turned to smirk at her. “It suits you well.” He enjoyed the pink shade of her cheeks a moment more before continuing.

“It’s not like you want to give it back.” His sister was never good at keeping her voice down.

“Octavia!”

There was the rustling of clothes and a shriek and Bellamy presumed that Clarke had tackled his sister to the floor.

Maybe he should venture to the kitchen more often.

And maybe he should become clumsy and spill some stuff.

He grinned.

Definitely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is today like writing sunday or something?


	22. 911 - This is a turkey emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while since I've done one of these. The prompt this time was - Could you do a Bellarke fanfic about thanksgiving?  
> I tried, okay, I tried. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving and I know next to nothing about it but I tried.   
> Happy Thanksgiving to anyone that's celebrating though ;)

Bellamy pushed the covers over his head and burrowed his face deeper into his pillow.

His phone kept ringing and he reached to grab it, cursing when he saw the time.

“What?” His voice was hoarse and groggy and maybe a bit too snappish.

There was a pause on the other end. “Sorry – did I wake you up?”

Bellamy sighed.

“Have you checked the clock? Every normal person is sleeping right now.”

“Err, yeah, I- you know what? Never mind; go back to sleep.” She sounded apologetic and nervous and while the first was reasonable, the latter wasn’t.

He pushed the covers away and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes, wincing when that left his eyes feeling scratchy.

“You woke me up; might as well tell me what’s wrong.”

She huffed. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m just overreacting.”

Bellamy counted to ten and when she didn’t say anything he scoffed. “Clarke...”

“Okay, okay,” he could picture her wince and guilty expression. “It’s just that I’m at the market buying the turkey because mom got a 12-hour shift and I have to make the Thanksgiving dinner except I have no idea how to make the turkey because dad has always been the one to cook it before and now he’s gone and – wait, does Octavia eat mushrooms? – no, anyway, and I’m here looking at all these turkeys and do I buy a living one or a frozen one? And I browsed the internet for recipes but do you know how many variations there are and-“

“Clarke.” Bellamy tried to interrupt her babbling as he sat up in his bed.

“-oh, I’m also going to make mashed potatoes with sour cream and dill, and then some baked vegetables – there will be cauliflower because I know you like it but no brussels sprouts, because ew – as for the stuffing I was thinking about chorizo and collard greens with corn bread but then the turkey-“

“Griffin, shut up and listen.” That made her take a breath.

“Yes?” She sounded meek as if she knew she was in some kind of trouble but not exactly sure how she got there in the first place.

“Did you wake me up at five because you’re having a turkey crisis?”

There was some rustling on the other end of the phone and the slow hum of people slowly ebbed away as Clarke moved around. “...it sounds silly when you put it that way.”

He rolled his eyes. “Because it _is_ silly.”

Clarke sighed and Bellamy picked up the sound of jingling keys and then the sound of a car door opening and closing.

“Sorry; it’s just you and Octavia are coming for dinner tonight and I want everything to be perfect and mom promised to make the turkey because she knows I can’t be trusted with it but then she got called in and now...”

Despite the early hour Bellamy smiled fondly. That was his Clarke – ever trying to make everything right.

“Tell you what – go home, get some sleep and later I’ll come over and make the turkey. What do you say?”

“You will?” She sounded so hopeful that there was no way Bellamy could refuse her, not that he was planning to.

He flopped back onto the bed.

“Yes, but you owe me a pumpkin pie, with cream; now leave me to sleep.”

She chuckled. “My knight in shining armour; what did I do to deserve you?”

_No, what did I do to deserve you?_ Bellamy ruffled his hair. “I’ll have you know that I’m actually a king.”

“Of course, your royal highness. How could I have made such an unforgivable mistake?”

Bellamy smiled and hummed in agreement, relaxing in his still warm sheets.

“Thank you.” Clarke’s voice was soft and he almost didn’t hear her.

He struggled to find the right words but at the end settled for “You always have me.”

“I love you.”

Now that was an opportunity he couldn’t miss. “I love me, too.”

Bellamy smirked when he heard her chocked off laughter.

“Did you just Han Solo’d me? And stop smirking.” She tried to sound serious but the amusement was leaking in between her words. “Jerk.”

“A jerk that’s going to cook your turkey for you.”

“You’ll never let this go, will you?”

“That really depends on your pie skills.”

He heard the sound of the engine revving and was thus ready for her abrupt but affectionate “My pie skills are fabulous. Go sleep, you silly king.”

The phone beeped in his ear indicating that the call had ended.

Bellamy rolled onto his side and after setting an alarm, he went back to sleep.

But not before sending _I love you, too, you silly princess_ to Clarke.

This was to be the best Thanksgiving yet.

And it barely had even started.


	23. Sliding down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bellamys-c1arke said: It's the middle of winter, Bellamy and Clarke come across a frozen lake and try to ice skate. Maybe add a snowball fight and making snow angels and lots of fluff!! :P Thanks M :D
> 
> \----
> 
> You're welcome!

The improvised sleigh dragged after them, erasing their footsteps but leaving a wide trail in their wake.

Clarke tugged her hood closer to her face and blew warm air gently over her cold hands. The rope they were using to pull the sleigh was frozen and the frost was biting painfully into her exposed fingers.

At least it had stopped snowing and soon after the wind had died down.

She looked to her left at Bellamy – his hat was white from the snow and at the places where his curly hair was poking out there were snowflakes and little icicles that were glinting merrily under the morning sun. He seemed lost in thought, putting one foot in front of the other and pulling the sleigh with seemingly no effort on his part.

Clarke huffed in mock annoyance and tugged little harder at her rope, tearing her eyes with some effort from his face. Constantly working side by side with him had made it harder and harder for her to resist how attractive he actually was.

The crunch of snow under their boots was the only sound disturbing the white fairytale that had spread around them and she huffed again.

She was freezing, hungry and extremely bored.

Clarke glanced at Bellamy again but he was oblivious to her starring.

“What?”

Or maybe not.

She shrugged and the movement reminded her rather forcibly of her stiff shoulders.

“Nothing.”

Bellamy looked rather sceptical and she sighed in surrender. “Just – did you have to get me out of my warm bed for _this_?” She kicked the snow in front of her and nearly lost her balance.

He coughed to cover up a laugh. “This, as you so eloquently put it, mostly contains things you needed and have been bugging me to get you for a while. It seemed only fair that you get to bring them back to camp.”

Clarke looked back at the sleigh – they had finally traded with the Grounders and the sleigh carried the things she had stubbornly bargained for. Wheat, ground apple seeds, snakes’ skin, grease, something that was supposed to be honey, wool, hemp, some trinkets, two bows and a bunch of arrows, a hunting knife, a plants and poisons grimoire and a mostly in tact old med kit. The last two items were the hardest to acquire and for them Clarke and Bellamy had to sacrifice five flares and all of Clarke’s colour pencils (turned out the village leader’s son was interested in drawing).

Still, the trade was pretty good, especially for their first time.

“I still think we should have taken that crown.” She joked and flicked some of the snow off his hat.

Bellamy stopped to give her a proper glare. “Easy for you to say, you weren’t the one they wanted to marry to one of their girls.”

Clarke chuckled and rubbed her hands together. “But they were all so pretty.”

He frowned and dropped his part of the rope on top of the sleigh. “Yeah, and under fifteen. Besides, I’m not interested in any of them.”

She hid her smile behind her hands and tried to warm her fingers with her breath. _In who are you interested then?_ she wanted to ask but bit her cheek and held the question back. He turned around and started walking, leaving Clarke and the sled behind.

“Bellamy?” He just kept on walking but reached back with his hand and gave her the motion to follow.

Clarke waned to protest but really, they were in the middle of a snowy forest, twenty minutes away from their camp and since their peace pact with the Grounders, there was nothing to be afraid of; except the acid fog, and the wolf hybrids, and the screeching birds that could make your ears bleed, and the – _whatever_ , the point was no _human_ would hurt them out here, plus Bellamy had a gun.

Clarke let the rope fall from her hand and jogged after Bellamy.

“Where are we going?”

His pace slowed down and he moved closer to her to avoid one of the lower branches.

“You’ll see.” He bumped her shoulder with his and smiled. She bumped back and let some of the tension that had gathered throughout the day leave her body.

Just as she was about to inquire about their destination again, Bellamy pushed a frozen bush out of their way raising a cloud of snow in the process and Clarke gasped when she recognised the place.

It was the small lake with the waterfall they found on their first few days down on Earth, when Octavia got attacked by that snake-like creature. Except it wasn’t really a lake now – the harsh winter had frozen the surface of the lake and a thick layer of ice covered the water.

And Bellamy stepped boldly on top of the ice.

Clarke spluttered and hurried to reach him and tug him back. “What are you doing?”

He stood his ground and actually pulled her forward making Clarke clench his shoulders in a deadly grip.

Bellamy smirked. “Having some fun.”

“On top of the _ice_?”

He shrugged and took few steps away from the shore. Clarke had no choice but to follow.

“Come now, don’t tell me you haven’t seen all those movies where people used to skate.” Bellamy put his hands on her waist and held her steady when she lost her step and nearly fell down.

“Yeah,” her voice was breathy and she could see the white cloud it produced between their faces. “But they used something called skates and did it in controlled environments, not on top of a frozen lake. What if the ice breaks?”

Bellamy grinned and twirled her around making her shriek and hit his chest in retaliation. “It’s not going to break.”

“But what if- _Bellamy_ -” he let go of her and took few faster steps, letting the motion carry him and essentially he slid a meter or two away from Clarke.

Clarke stood still as her heart tried to escape through her ribcage and stared at Bellamy in horror.

“ _Get back here_.” Her legs were close to shaking and she was terrified that the ice under her feet was going to break every moment now.

Bellamy just offered his hand from where he was standing, completely unconcerned with their situation. “Tell you what – make it to where I’m standing right now and I’ll get us back on solid ground.”

She looked back and forth between Bellamy and the shoreline but she was actually standing closer to Bellamy. Clarke sighed, straightened her back and took a small step in his direction.

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do, princess.” His grin made his eyes sparkle and he wriggled his fingers in her direction.

She narrowed her eyes at his teasing and as she took another step she decided to screw it all, she never was some meek person with no backbone for some reckless adventures. Her next few steps were faster but unfortunately she misjudged the distance and ended up sliding faster than she had anticipated.

Bellamy overcame his surprise rather fast and caught her but lost his equilibrium in the process and the two of them toppled down, Clarke nestled safely in his arms and away from the cold ice.

He groaned when his head hit the ice and Clarke hit his chest mumbling “ _Jerk_.” a couple of times. Bellamy laughed and shifted until her elbow was no longer digging in his side and pulled her tighter to his body, one hand unconsciously playing with her snowflake-covered hair.

“You know,” he said after a while and Clarke hummed in question. “As much as I like this, my poor ass is really freezing here.”

She chuckled and he liked the fact that he could feel the vibrations through her chest and then she lifted her head from the warm place on his shoulder and gave him a curious and amused look, a mischievous smile on her pale pink lips.

“You brought this on yourself. But –“ she leaned closer and kissed the side of his mouth “something to help you keep warm.” And then she dumped a fistful of snow on his face.

With that she pushed herself away from him, dusted the snow from her clothes and headed for the shoreline.

Bellamy blinked, still flabbergasted over what had happened and when he realised she was no longer in his line of vision he wasted no time in wiping the melting snow off his face.

“Clarke!” He shouted after her, smiling and shaking his head at her childish behaviour. He got up with some difficulty and absent-mindedly rubbed his tender head, taking careful steps while on the ice and then faster ones when he got on solid ground. “Wait up! You missed your mark!”

Her laughter rang through the otherwise silent forest.

“You wish, Bellamy.”

Oh, he more than wished. He _craved_ , have been for a while now.

And now that she gave him a green light he was going to show her exactly how much.

She had no idea what she got herself into.

He smirked.

Twenty minutes were enough time to sway her for another kiss.

 


	24. 1+1=3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon said: prompt: a nervous Clarke tells Bellamy she is pregnant

His voice washed over her and nervous butterflies and giddiness twisted her insides. Does she spring up the news or does she wait for the perfect moment? But then how was she supposed to know when the moment was perfect was? Clarke bit the inside of her cheek to keep the words from escaping in jumbles and took off her jacket.

“- and we managed to bargain for more than we initially thought.”

Clarke hummed in agreement and continued to wash the grime off her hands, mind otherwise occupied.

“Anya said that next time you have to come for sure, the Commander will be there and will want to see us both.”

_I should tell him,_ she thought and nodded her head reaching to grab the washcloth and dab the water from her hands. _How hard could it be?_

Besides, the idea of him disliking the news was absurd.

He was going to be happy.

Right?

-

Bellamy paused while taking off his boots and frowned when Clarke didn’t display the usual level of excitement when it came to the Grounders and especially to the Commander. He sat down on the little cot they had and ruffled his hair, eyes boring into her back.

“Clarke?” His voice startled her and she turned around, hastily pushing her hair behind her ears and smiling at him.

But the smile was off and her movements were jerky, troubled.

Bellamy didn’t ask right away what was wrong; instead, he kicked off his boots, scooted back on the cot and opened his arms in an invitation. This time her smile was genuine and she gratefully snuggled at his side, head tucked under his chin and hand resting over his heart.

They stayed like that – Bellamy running his fingers through her hair, Clarke painting swirls over his chest – until she relaxed and her breathing evened out.

He kissed the top of her head. “What is it?”

She lifted her head and looked at him, worrying her lip until he brushed his thumb over it and caressed her face, ending with a playful flick on her nose.

“Tell me.” It wasn’t really a demand, but the words were soft and compelling and Clarke gathered her wits about it.

She caught his wrist and pushed it down until it was hovering over her abdomen and then clasped his hand and let in rest there.

Bellamy looked at her stomach confused and as he was about to pull his hand away and lift her shirt to see what was that about, her barrage of words stopped him.

“I know we’ve only recently started talking about it and it was more of a possible future idea but it happened and I didn’t know how to tell you this or if you’ll be happy about it and I was nervous- I _am_ nervous but I think we can do it, we’ll be _brilliant_.” She stopped to take a deep breath and locked her gaze with his. “We’ll be parents.”

The heartbeat in his ears made him deaf for everything else as he moved his eyes from their clasped fingers to her face and back again. His hand had little tremors going through it when he pushed it gently against the flat of abdomen. _Parents_ , the word echoed pleasantly in his head.

“I- we- _you’re sure_?”

Her smile was big and joyful, her eyes sparkling with unleashed tears and happiness as the last doubts left her.

“I’m sure. I’m pregnant, Bellamy.”

He surged forward and crashed his mouth against hers, swallowing her squeak of surprise and electing more pleasurable sounds out of her. His head was dizzy with euphoria and his heart felt like it was going to burst. Bellamy turned them around, laying Clarke on her back, and broke their kiss to lower his head down until he was leveled with her stomach.

He pushed her hand away and carefully lifted her shirt, gazing lovingly at the still flat skin. His fingers traced circles around her bellybutton as he laid messy wet kisses around it.

Clarke’s squirming and laughter made him look up and he was overwhelmed by her effortless beauty and the contentment she radiated. He blew another raspberry against her stomach and then stole another kiss from her pink lips.

“It’s a girl.”

Clarke pouted at his prediction and smoothed the hair out of his face. “No, it’s a boy, a mother knows these things.”

Bellamy lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “I guess then we’ll have to try again after this. You know, so that we have one of each.”

She chuckled and shook her head fondly at him. “Do we now?”

“Yes.” This time their kiss was longer and Clarke’s lips were swollen by the time they pulled apart. “We might even want to start practicing right now.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at him but still pulled his shirt off. “Might as well.”

“Parents.” Bellamy breathed against her lips.

“Parents.” She echoed back with a smile.

-

In the end, Clarke wasn’t sure why she had been nervous to tell him in the first place.

Bellamy was so happy about the news that they missed the evening briefing meeting.

And then the morning one as well.


	25. Mr. Freckles’ antique shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heartofbellarke asked: Bellarke + camera

"It’s just an old Polaroid camera, Clarke, you’re better off buying a new one."

Clarke scoffed at Wells words and carefully put her damaged camera back in its case.

"It’s more than that and you know it."

Wells lifted his hands in surrender before she could start her well-practiced speech (which he was painfully familiar with) and rolled the car to a stop. 

"Thanks for the ride."

He ruffled her hair and she stuck her tongue at him. Very mature of her, she knew, and Wells’ laughter told her that he thought the same.

Clarke got out of his car and waved absently at him when he honked for goodbye, gaze fixed on the bold deep purple letters that spelled _Rome’s antiques._ According to her internet search this place not only sold and occasionally bought antiques, but sometimes they even _fixed_ them - exactly what Clarke needed.

The door was made of dark wood and colourful glass, heavier than she had thought it to be when she pushed it to enter. A small bell announced her presence and Clarke had the feeling that she had stepped into a whole new world.

The air smelled of mahogany and old books, with a hint of something citrus-y; there were lit candles along the counters and despite her reservations, there was not a single speck of dust in sight. The shop was pure chaos. There was furniture all over the place accompanied by posh looking chairs and expensive glass bowls and vases.

Clarke was so enchanted with the place that she hit her foot against a wooden chest and when she stumbled back to rub her sore leg, she got nearly toppled over by a heavy velvet curtain.

She huffed and - after making sure nobody saw that - she made her way to one of the counters. She hit the small bell, pushed her hair behind her ear and mentally scoffed at the impossible prices of the silverware behind the glass. Really, 120 dollars for _one_ tiny spoon? Who had eaten with it, the Queen of England?

"You’d be surprised at how close to the truth you are."

Clarke shrieked in surprise and her hands covered her mouth to stop any further embarrassing sounds as she met the twinkling brown eyes of the shop assistant. She felt herself blushing and he offered her a smile. That’s what she gets for muttering under her nose.

"Can I help you with something?" His voice was pleasant and polite enough that she pretended not to hear the laughing note it held.

She put the camera case on the counter before her and opened it to show him the Polaroid camera it held.

He peeked inside and Clarke had to stop her giggles when some of his dark curls shifted and left him with an odd looking hairdo. Come to think of it, from what she could see from behind the counter, he was quite handsome - taller than her but not by much, broad-shouldered, lithe, with long fingers and nice curve on his mouth, and the most adorable freckles dusting across his nose that Clarke had ever seen. She was leaning closer to see if she could count them when he looked up and gave her a funny look at her hasty retreat.

"If you think I’ll buy it you won’t be having any luck. I already have one like this."

Clarke rolled her eyes and pulled herself together; Mr. Freckles was good looking yes, but she could do without his condescending tone.

"I’m not looking to sell it, I was actually hoping you can fix it."

Mr. Freckles lifted an eyebrow and took the camera out of the case.

"What’s wrong with it?"

"Well, aside from the time delay," she levelled him with an annoyed look when he pointed the camera at her and clicked the button to take a picture, and smirked when nothing happened and he frowned. "As I was saying, there’s a time delay but I’m used to that. I’m more concerned about the damaged lens."

The scratch on it came to be because of an incident and ever since all the pictures would come out blurrier than before or with weird light defects.

He hummed as he turned it around to look at the lens and that’s when the camera flashed and took the picture.

Clarke chuckled at his bewildered expression as he blinked the lights from his eyes.

"I see." He said at last, sounding put out and a little lost, and Clarke bit her lip to stop her smile from showing. "Are you sure you want me to fix it? It’s quite the old model; I can probably find a lens that will fit but it will take a while and it might cost you more than you expect; buying a new one might be a better option."

Clarke got to the picture before he could and waved it around, waiting for it to develop.

"It’s a family heirloom. I’d prefer to get it fixed if possible."

She looked at the picture - apparently Mr. Freckles looked good no matter what, in fact the lens defect only seemed to help with enhancing his eyes and giving a soft light to his hair.

Clarke let him snatch it out of her hand and rested her elbows on the glass counter. He looked over the picture and then turned his attention back to the camera.

"I can probably get rid off the blur as well."

She shrugged. “As long as you can get it working properly I don’t care what modifications you add. Then again, maybe you can check the closing mechanism, it’s been giving me some trouble for a while now.”

Mr. Freckles pushed one stubborn curl away from his face and looked up to smirk at her.

"Whatever you want, your highness."

Clarke wasn’t sure if she should take the words as a compliment or not, and in the end she overlooked them.

"So? You agree to it?"

He looked amused by her lack of reaction but didn’t say anything about it, just put the camera back in it’s case and took out a paper form. He filled it out with few strokes of his pen and then turned the list over to Clarke so that she could sign it.

She put down her name and signature and after checking it, Mr. Freckles gave her a small envelope with the shop’s contact information and the number of her order (according to his words).

"I don’t know when I’ll manage to change the lens so you might want to drop by frequently."

Clarke took in his easy smile, suggestive tone and relaxed posture and was- was he actually _flirting_ with her?

"I’ll keep it in mind."

"You do that, princess."

This time she didn’t let it pass. “Why are you calling me that?”

He furrowed his brows confusedly for a moment before laughing (and he had a nice deep laugh). 

"Don’t you know? Only those of royal blood enter _Rome’s antiques_.”

Oh, wasn’t that wonderful, Mr. Freckles was an idiot.

"Sorry to burst your bubble but I’m not of royal blood."

His grin widened so much that it send pleasant shivers down her back - there was something hot and wicked in his eyes.

"You can always marry into one."

Clarke brushed aside his innuendo and told her traitorous heart to stop beating so fast, she had only _just_ met the guy, for God’s sake.

"Don’t count on it." She put the envelope into her jacket’s pocket and made her way to the door.

Only when the bell signalled her exit, he shouted after her retreating back. “See you soon, _milady_.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she took pleasure in slamming the door behind her. Mr. Freckles was insufferable.

It was only when she was half-way home that she looked inside the envelope. Inside, instead of the contact card she expected to find, was the Poloroid photo her camera took of Mr. Freckles. On the back of it was a number and a name.

Clarke chuckled; this Bellamy guy was persistent, maybe she should give him a chance. She flipped the photo around and traced his blurry features with her fingers. She added him to her phone contacts (under Mr. Freckles, of course), and then hit dial.

Might as well see how serious Bellamy was about making her of royal blood.


	26. follow me through the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gift for [Joanna](http://bellamyblakes.tk/) over at tumblr for still being my friend despite all the sad meta I inflict on her
> 
> title taken from the song Love me like you do by Ellie Goulding

He was beyond exhausted. His neck and shoulders ached from the constant tilting of his head to look at the evidence laid down on one of their work tables and his ribs were still tender from the chase he had given an hour ago. Serial killers were slippery bastards but after four weeks of non-stop brain-storming and letting him slip between their fingers, Bellamy and his team had cracked his profile and correctly predicted his next victim. They had rescued the girl in time (unlike the previous attempts to stop the serial killer) and Bellamy himself caught the murderer when he tried to shoot Raven and make a run for it.

His keys clacked in his hand as he pushed his front door open. Home sweet home.

Bellamy’s uniform was dirty and his shoes left wet prints on his wooden floor but he couldn’t care less. He had barely slept for the past forty-eight hours and he had been running himself haggard for the past one month. God, if it hadn’t been for Clarke’s sticky notes in his apartment and occasional messages to his phone to eat and rest, he would probably have tried to survive on copious amounts of caffeine and sugar.

Seeing the yellow sticky note from three days ago still hanging on the mirror in his hallway – _There’s food in the fridge (it can work for breakfast too!). Call me when you get home_ _♥_ – Bellamy fished his phone from his pocket and fired her a quick message of his success and plans on hitting the shower and then the bed.

His apartment was gloomy and lifeless without her here to light it up with her presence – between his long hours at work and her getting ready for her next exhibition, they barely saw each other.

He missed her, oh how he missed her; sticky notes and short phone calls were not enough, they never were. Bellamy dropped his gun and holster on his bedside table – shower first, then some sleep, and _then_ he would start his car and go see her.

Bellamy had no memory of how he had gotten to the shower and then out of it or when he had passed out on his bed, towel still wrapped around his waist. But he knew that when he woke up hours later it was to the sounds of a pencil being dragged against paper and the scent of jasmine.

 _Clarke_.

He cracked one of his eyes open and there she was – sitting with her back against the headboard, sketchbook perched on her knees and her eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Bellamy took the rare opportunity to observe her without her knowing but the temptation to touch her proved too much and Bellamy swung a hand around her waist and pulled her closer, resting his face against her side.

Clarke squealed in surprise and softly thumped him over the head with her sketchbook.

“Hello to you too, sleepyhead.”

Bellamy mumbled an affirmation back and closed his eyes, basking in her presence and enjoying the hand petting his hair. When the fingers ventured down, gently massaging his head and rubbing circles around the knobs of his spine, he sighed happily and felt the last traces of fatigue and worry roll off his body. She shifted closer to him and got back to drawing, her other hand never pausing the soft caresses. He dozed off some more while she sketched. She was finally here and his bed was warm and his covers smelled like her – it’s been so long since he had been close enough to drink in her jasmine bodywash – this right now felt like his personal haven. After a while she put her sketchbook away and moved down and under the covers and snuggled into his arms. Bellamy nuzzled her neck and she laughed when his stubble tickled the tender skin.

He pulled back only to tuck one stubborn blond curl behind her ear and cracked a sleepy smile to answer her infectious grin.

“Hi.” His voice was low and husky with sleep and when Clarke traced his lips with her fingers, he nipped them playfully.

“Hi back.”

Bellamy leaned in for a peck mindful of his morning breath but she probed his lips with her tongue and he gave her access with little to no fight. The kiss was languid and so achingly familiar that Bellamy had a hard time coming with a valid reason for the lack of contact they had over the past four weeks. And as one kiss soon turned into two, then three, he vowed to never be separated from Clarke for so long again.

She whimpered when he pulled back and tried to chase his mouth for more but Bellamy ducked his head and worried the skin of her neck with his teeth and lips until a bright red mark bloomed under his care. He went to push her on her back but his ribs protested the movement so instead he pulled her on top of him.

Clarke had just straddled his hips when the sketchbook fell from the bed and snapped them out of their haze.

Intrigued, Bellamy moved to the end of the bed and reached down until he caught the hardcover of the sketchbook and pulled it up. He balanced Clarke with one hand on her waist while she found a comfortable place to sit on his lap, and flipped absent-mindedly through the sketchbook until he found the last drawing.

“Why Miss Griffin, you’ve been using me as your model, _again_.”

“Fabulous deduction skills as always, Detective Blake.”

He mock-scowled at her but her challenging grin had him breaking character and he threw the sketchbook away and tackled her on the bed, the fuck with his ribs.

“I see how it is, teasing me while I’m barely cognitive and hurt.”

Her face lost its joyful look and Bellamy cursed the slip of his tongue.

“You’re hurt?” Her hands were already skimming down his sides and he grunted when she pushed against one of his bruised ribs. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Clarke pushed him to lay down and got rid of the covers to get a proper look of his torso.

Her lips turned down in a grimace at the pleiad of colours that greeted her and Bellamy let her poke around until she was convinced that it wasn’t anything serious. The perks of having a girlfriend whose mother was a doctor – she knew what to look for if it was something more than an ugly bruise.

“I should have left you a sticky note not to get hurt.”

“I’m fine.” He smoothed out the wrinkles on her forehead and brought her hand up to kiss the centre of her palm.

She rolled her eyes at his blasé attitude but let him pull her to lay next to him, being careful of his ribs now that she knew about them.

“I made dinner in case you’re hungry.”

“Gosh, princess, could you be any more perfect?”

“Well,” she wiggled her eyebrows. “I also cleaned your foyer and put your clothes in the washing machine, _and_ I told Octavia that we’ll be skipping the dinner invitation. I’m pretty sure you’re the one getting all the princessy treatment tonight.”

Bellamy winced – he had totally forgotten about Octavia and her monthly dinner nights. But like always, Clarke had thought about everything; it was no wonder that he loved her.

He propped himself on his elbow and looked at her – blond hair spilled on top of his pillow, wearing a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt, looking like she belonged right there, in his bed, _all his_ , and gazing at him with so much adoration and reverence that his heart felt ready to burst out of his chest.

Bellamy had no idea what he had done to deserve her but he had no intention of ever letting her go.

In the short nine months they had been dating Clarke proved to be everything he needed and then some. It was hard for Bellamy to love and give it his all without holdbacks but Clarke had managed to occupy even the deepest darkest places of his soul and accepted his faults as readily as his good sides.

He never found the right time to tell her how much she meant to him (because she deserved it to be _special_ ) but love didn’t wait for perfect moments.

“I love you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could register them.

Her mouth opened in surprise and her blue eyes widened. Bellamy became nervous and scratched the back of his head. Maybe he had said it too soon; maybe she didn’t feel the same way.

“I mean-“

Her hand covered his mouth.

“I love you too.”

Bellamy smiled behind her hand so widely that his cheeks started to hurt. “Really?”

Clarke stifled a laugh at his awed expression and tugged him down to kiss him. “Really.”

“I knew it.” He whispered smugly against her lips and she poked him in retaliation.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Everything you want, princess.” And he kissed the smile off her face.

“Everything?” She asked when they pulled apart for air.

Bellamy kissed the skin under her eyes. “Everything.” And he was completely serious – he would do absolutely _everything_ she asked of him; it was scary how much influence and control she had over him and she didn’t even know it.

“Then,” her eyes suddenly turned mischievous. “You’ll wear a suit to the grand opening of my new exhibition.”

Bellamy groaned and let his head fall down next to hers; he hated wearing suits. She laughed at him, the minx, and sing-songed in his ear “You loooooove me.” He couldn’t even deny it (not that he actually wanted to).

“You got yourself a deal on the condition that you don’t leave my side.”

“Ooh,” Clarke crooned. “The big bad detective is losing his edge if he thinks that I planned on being anywhere else.”

His fingers sneaked past her shirt and were merciless in their quest to make her laugh until there were tears streaming down her cheeks.

Later, they will eat dinner in bed and Bellamy will tell her about his case. Later, Clarke will make him see pictures with her words and tell him which paintings will be added to the exhibition. Later, he will strip her off her clothes and bask in her warmth and love. Later, he will tell her _“I love you”_ and she’ll say it back and he’ll fall asleep with her in his embrace.

And much, much later he will marvel how Clarke seemed to be the light that never left his side in the dark.


	27. Quarter past two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scottmcpack asked: 17 + bellarke | 17 - meeting at a party whilst drunk au

The music beat was so strong that Clarke’s cup was bouncing slightly on the table. She could feel it resonating deep into her bones, urging her blood on and making her tap her fingers along. 

The air was stifling, her skin was warm and glistening with sweat, and the few locks of hair that had long ago escaped her bun were sticking to the back of her neck. 

The bodies around her were too much, too hot, too _close_ , but she was pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol and she paid no attention to the slight discomfort. 

Clarke abandoned her half-full cup — she had more than enough to drink tonight — and made her way to the mass of people in the centre of the floor where the music was the loudest and the dancing was in full swing. 

There was something about it, dancing, getting lost in the music, following the rhythm with her body, forgetting all about the eyes watching her, judging her, _wanting_ her; just emptying her mind and letting the beat to guide her. It was a powerful feeling, one that left her giddy and breathless, free from burdens and expectations. It was as if for a moment she simply _existed_ and nothing else. 

Her dark red dress was slowly climbing up her thighs with every grind of her hips and her feet were starting to hurt from her impossibly high heels, but she ignored it all and twisted and turned and gave herself up to the music. The alcohol was making things even easier to overlook as she welcomed the moving bodies around her, laughing when she could feel their skin vibrating with the music.  


The room around her was spinning, partly thanks to the alcohol in her bloodstream and partly because of all the dancing people. Clarke closed her eyes and while that made the dizziness worse, it allowed her to imagine that she was all alone with the beat of her heart throbbing in time with the music. 

But just as she was getting lost in it, somebody put his hands on her. Agitated, Clarke snapped out of her trance-like dancing and turned around. The guy moved in closer and Clarke tried to push him away but her head was full of cotton and her limbs were too weak to respond in time. He caught her wrist and, with some difficulty, Clarke tugged it out of his grasp. 

“Leave me alone.” But her words got lost under the sound of the music and the guy once again stepped closer. 

Before she could react further, a new set of hands landed on her waist and pulled her back against a wide firm chest. The hold the new stranger had around her tightened as if he was protecting her and he must have done something impressive, yet scary, because the other guy gave up on his unwelcomed pursuit with an annoyed scowl in their direction. 

Clarke craned her head to the side and caught a glimpse of dark curls and freckles and eyes that seemed to shine under the dim lights of the room. 

When he noticed that she was staring at him, the handsome stranger — because he _was_ handsome, there was no doubt about it; even slightly drunk, Clarke was more than capable to tell at least that much — said something and Clarke had to shake her head when the words failed to reach her. 

He frowned for a moment before he lowered his head a bit and Clarke could feel his hot breath against her ear and neck. 

“Sorry about that.” His voice was low and a bit gruff and Clarke could feel it rumbling in his chest where it touched her back. “You seemed in a need for some help.” 

He smelled of whisky, leather and smoke and Clarke had the unexplained urge to bury her hands in his soft-looking curls. 

She turned around to face him properly and his hands loosened their hold, ready to let her go, only to falter when she locked her hands around his neck and pulled him back in. 

“Are you always such a sucker for a damsel in distress?” The alcohol was making her flirty and brave, and she smirked when the corner of his eyes crinkled with amusement and he chuckled. 

“I don’t know. Are you really a damsel?”

Clarke gave in and let her fingers sink into his messy curls, sighing when they turned out to be as soft as they looked. 

“Buy me a drink and we’ll see.”

“Do you think that’s a wise idea?”

Clarke hummed and let her hands slip from his hair and travel down his well-defined chest, truly appreciating the tight blue shirt he was wearing. 

“Why? Do you plan on taking advantage of me?”

He stopped her when she reached his belt and drew her hands back up around his neck. Clarke frowned, thinking that her advances were unwanted but the intensity of his dark gaze stopped her. 

“I like my women coherent and willing.” 

Clarke arched her left eyebrow — oh, really? 

He let her see his self-assured grin before he pushed the few stray strands of hair behind her ear and leaned in to nip her earlobe, using just the right amount to teeth and lips to make Clarke shiver in anticipation for something more. 

“I’m Bellamy.” His hands slid from the middle of her back to her waist, feeling like hot brands and making Clarke wish there was nothing separating them from her skin. 

There was an invitation in his words and Clarke hesitated for a moment before deciding the hell with it. Sometimes drunk decisions were the best. 

“I’m Clarke. So, how about that drink?”

He huffed a laugh against her sensitive neck and laid a kiss just below her ear. It felt like a promise. 

“As you wish.” 

Oh, this was going to be _so good_. 


	28. Slipping away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bellarkven asked: 44 or 45 (idk you pick) :)) + Anonymous said: 44 | 44 - one of them being diagnosed with a terminal illness au

She knew what the words meant — she was a doctor, of course she knew what the words meant — but as she read them over and over again, the print like black smudges on the white paper, the letter merging together in one incomprehensible mess, Clarke couldn’t understand them nor accept them. 

This was not happening. Not to her, not now. There had to be some sort of a mistake. 

Her eyes burned with unleashed tears and the paper shook and crumpled as she fisted her hand and brought it to her mouth to stop the sobs. 

The fluorescent light of the hospital room’s lamps got reflected off her engagement ring and the horror of the implication hit her harder than anything before. Oh God, _Bellamy_. 

Funny, kind, smart-ass Bellamy, who was secretly a history buff and didn’t like peanut butter with his jelly. Bellamy, whose smirk could make her week in the knees, and whose smile could make her heart skip a beat. Bellamy, who knew how to make her laugh and what to say to soothe her fears, who sometimes riled her up on purpose just because he liked seeing the fire in her eyes (or so he said). Bellamy, whose touch always set her skin on fire and knew exactly how to use it to his advantage. Bellamy, who loved her and cherished her and helped her get back on her feet when she had the feeling of falling down. 

Bellamy, whom she was supposed to marry in less than two months.  


The tears ran down her cheeks and her breath got stuck in her chest, her throat felt tight and scratchy, the room too small for her. Clarke wanted to run and scream, trash the room until nothing was left, just _do something_ to get this awful feeling of hopelessness out of her heart.   

Instead, her legs gave out and she fell to the floor, the pain from the impact nothing compared to the pain that was tearing her heart apart. It was overwhelming, this feeling of fear, it was getting embedded so deep in her consciousness that it was making her whole body tremble with despair. 

Her sobs were getting louder and she muffled her mouth with her hand, biting into the skin of her palm until she broke it, the metallic taste only serving as a reminder of what was to come soon. Clarke used her other hand to try and hug herself, to bring some warmth to her suddenly cold world, but it wasn’t enough, _she_ wasn’t enough. 

How was she supposed to deal with this? 

For fuck’s sake, she was too young to die, she _didn’t want_ to die. There was too much to see and do and discover and love and…

And there was Bellamy. 

She couldn’t do this to Bellamy.

Clarke scrambled to get her phone, furiously rubbing her tears away and entering with shaking hands her passcode. She wavered for a moment, finger poised over the call button next to Bellamy’s number before hitting it and bringing the phone to her ear, crying silently as the line connected. She didn’t want it to connect, didn’t want to tell him like this, but she also desperately needed his arms around her. 

He picked up almost immediately. 

“Clarke?” His voice was heavy with sleep and on the confused side. “Hey, did your shift end early?” 

The words got stuck in her throat and no amount of swallowing helped her push them out. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy sounded sharper, more aware, a bit concerned, and Clarke closed her eyes, soaking in the little pieces of his love. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Bell..” Just saying his name was enough to render her speechless, reminding her of all that she was going to lose, of what _he_ was going to lose. But she pushed through it, for his sake. “I got t-the results of the blood test.” Her breath stuttered as she exhaled. “I- I have cancer. The bad kind.” Her voice broke at the last word and the tears started anew. 

Bellamy’s loud choked off breath made her clench her phone closer to her ear and curl into a ball around it, holding tightly to her only connection with him right now. 

“I’m coming to get you.” She nodded her head and when she realized he couldn’t see her, gave a shaky affirmation. 

“Don’t hang up.” She pleaded with him and hated how tiny she sounded, how scared, but that was exactly how she felt right now and she didn’t have the strenght to hide her feelings from him.

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.” He sounded hoarse but determined and Clarke believed him; she always did. 

A whimper left her lips and she heard him cursing before slamming the door of his car and starting the engine to come and get her. 

Clarke dragged herself few steps back until her back was against the wall and hugged her knees, listening to Bellamy’s breathing and occasional soft word of love and courage and hope. 

The blasted paper with the test results sat creased on the floor. Under it, another paper peaked — the reason for the blood test in the first place. The words _positive for hormone hCG_ had her crying harder. 

She was pregnant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me for this <3


	29. sign my shirt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon said: 33 - celebrity/fan au

Clarke brushed the wrinkles out of her shirt, made sure that her badge was visible over it, showcasing her ID as an ARK magazine reporter, and pushed her glasses up her nose. With one last deep inhale, she straightened her back, passed the guard with a smile and a wave of her ID and continued down the white hallway.

Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the room she had been looking for -- _Bellamy Blake_ , the nameplate on the side read. Clarke allowed herself one last nervous chuckle and knocked twice before opening the door.

It wasn’t Blake that she was nervous and excited to meet. Well, actually, _he_ was, but not Blake the actor or Blake the playboy or even Blake the charity guy. No, her heart was skipping because she was about to interview Bellamy Blake, who was going to play the Human Torch in the latest Marvel adaptation of The Fantastic Four, and Clarke had been a fan of the series for so long that her inner fangirl was all over the place.

She had a lot of feelings when it came to Johnny Storm and the last actor that played him portrayed him awfully (and Clarke _might_ have written one of the saltiest passive-aggressive reviews in her life about it).

Clarke was also somewhat of a fan of Blake’s acting -- his roles were different from one another, and yet, they were all pulled off with such ease and grace that Clarke -- and the rest of the world -- was easily enchanted and in love with his performances.

Those two facts were put together now and for the first time in her career as a reporter, Clarke was unable to completely mask her excitement.

But her giddiness over the meeting evaporated on the spot when Blake didn’t even look up from his phone, sprawled on the beige couch, feet up on the table, and drawled out --

“I said no more autographs, O.”

 

Still, Clarke smiled politely and cleared her throat.

“I’m afraid I’m not here for an autograph, Mr. Blake. I’m with ARK magazine and we were promised an interview with you concerning your new role in the upcoming Marvel movie.”

At the unfamiliar voice he looked up and his eyes widened clearly pleased with the view. His lips stretched in a smirk and he put his feet down and leaned back in the couch, pose nothing short of suggestive.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind signing your shirt.”

Clarke gritted her teeth and ignored the little wiggle he did with his fingers. All her enthusiasm about finally meeting him fell flat and she had to swallow the ball of disappointment that was stuck in her throat.

Go figure, he actually had some of the qualities to play Johnny Storm -- confident to the point of arrogance and a complete womanizer. Qualities, that Clarke was sad to realize, she wasn’t expecting Blake to really posses when it came to interacting with him on a professional level.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get this interview started.”

Smirk still in place, he patted the seat next to him on the couch. Clarke relished the look of surprise on his face when instead of sitting there, she pulled up one of the chairs and on the other side of the table, facing him.

He might be playing one of her favorite characters on screen and he might be a great actor, but Clarke wasn’t about to let that get to her head and ignore his appalling behaviour.

“You’re all work and no fun.”

Clarke took out her notepad and opened it on the page with the questions she had previously scribbled down, pen poised to start writing.

“I prefer not to mix the two.”

If anything, her terse reply only made him look all that more interested in her.

Clarke wanted to scowl.

“I’m told I’m good at persuading people.”

Her smile was cold and sharp and it only served to amuse him further.

“How are you dealing with the Marvel fans that aren’t happy with you being casted as Johnny Storm? You’re half-Filipino and well, some of them are against that.”

He froze and the smirk disappeared, his shoulders grew tense and he clenched his hands so hard that Clarke could see the white of his knuckles.

She had hit a sore spot for him.

With his next breath, he relaxed but the smile he sent her way was forced and didn’t reach his eyes. The playful demeanor was gone and Clarke was wondering if this was going to be a bad thing or a good thing.

“Going straight for the kill, hm? Tell me, do you agree with them, _princess_?”

Clarke bristled and fixed her glasses, glaring at him from behind her lenses.

“Don’t call me that, and I’m here to interview _you_ , not to answer your questions.”

He ruffled his hair and Clarke’s attention was drawn to his unruly curly locks. She had the sudden urge to reach over and fix one particular stubborn curl back in it’s place; she resisted.

“You never told me your name.” His gaze pinned her in place and Clarke held his stare until she was sure she had made her point across -- she was not so easily swayed.

“You didn’t seem interested in hearing it, Mr. Blake.”

“Do call me Bellamy.”

Clarke was far from impressed by his change of tactics and she made sure her expression let him know that.

“I’ve yet to see you in the role of Johnny Storm. I’ll reserve my judgement when I see your acting and if it’s up to par with his whole persona or not.”

His eyes narrowed and it sent chills down her back. It was as if she was finally getting his _full_ attention and the force and intensity of was staggering and disconcerting. And it made butterflies explode in her stomach.

“Are you doubting my acting skills?” Somehow, the tone of his voice made the hairs at the back of her neck stand.

She tapped her pen against her notepad as she carefully picked her words.

“The last actor that played him didn’t do a very good job at it.”

“Some would say that the Human Torch isn’t that hard to play.” His smile showed too much teeth to Clarke’s liking.

“Some don’t know what they’re talking about.” She had lost all control over the conversation and his damn attractive face was making it harder for her to remember that he had tried to treat her like a dumb bimbo fan, who’d drop her panties for him at the first well-placed one-liner.

“You’re a Marvel fan.” It wasn’t a question.

His smug grin irritated her to no end and she mentally cursed when she realized that he had set her up.

“Tell you what -- give me your name and I’ll make sure to get you a ticket for the premier so that you can tell me in person how much you actually enjoyed watching me play Johnny Storm.”

Clarke hummed and pretended to think about it, while she tried to calm down her wild beating heart. His offer was essentially a ticket for the _red carpet_. Just thinking about it made Clarke dizzy -- all those celebrities and producers and filmmakers, the possibilities were endless!

“And how does that benefit you?”

He went for an innocent shrug of his shoulders but Clarke was far from fooled by it.

“I get to hear first hand that your first impression of me was wrong.”

“You’ve yet to prove me otherwise.” True, somewhat. “Let us get over with this and I’ll think about it.”

He grinned as if he had already won.

-

At the end of the interview, Clarke had to admit that Bellamy Blake had a lot of layers and he wasn’t what he appeared to be.

Was he a bit arrogant? Yes. Was it with a reason? _Yes_.

But that was not all that made him either and she had been delighted to see some of his other, softer sides as well. Who would have thought that he could actually hold a deep conversation without throwing in an innuendo or two.

“So, did I earn your name?” Blake -- _Bellamy_ , as he had told her to call him numerous times already -- was leaning against the open door and handed Clarke her pen.

Clarke smiled and the amusement she felt was reflected in his eyes.

“I don’t know. Do I get to sign your shirt?”

Bellamy laughed and uncapped her pen for her, letting her sign his white shirt with no complains and proudly showing it off when she was done.

“ _Clarke_. It suits you, princess. Now, what do I have to let you sign to get your number?”

“Well…”

Her smile was nearly wicked and the challenge in her eyes was readily met by the challenge in his.


	30. missing you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: 39 - long distance relationship au

Clarke was patting her hair dry, kicking at the dirty scrubs in the corner of her bathroom, when her phone rang obnoxiously loud in the empty apartment. She didn’t bother checking the screen before swiping her thumb right and accepting the call.

Static greeted her first and then Bellamy’s tired voice.

“Hey, babe. Done with your shift?”

Clarke smiled and sat on the edge of her bed. Dropping the towel at her feet, she squirmed up until she could lay against the pillows and let the slight summer breeze from the open window to caress her still damp skin.

“Hey.” She replied softly back and closed her eyes. “I finished a little early today. I’m already home.”

He hummed and Clarke squeezed her eyes tighter, turning on her side and curling around her phone; she hated how big the bed felt without him there to share it.

“How was your day?”

Bellamy groaned and the static increased for a moment.

“Don’t remind me; they’re a bunch of idiots, seriously, I can’t believe that I agreed to be a part of this atrocity.”

Clarke winced and mentally sent him good vibes. “That bad?”

He snorted and Clarke could see the furrow of his brows and the frown on his lips.

“They know nothing about Ancient Rome, Clarke! Nothing! Today, one of the students tried to convince me that Augustus had lived during the time of the Severan dynasty!” His voice held a touch of disbelief and hysteria. “ _Severan dynasty_! There’s like two centuries between them!”

Clarke sympathized with him, really, she did, but she still had to hold back her laughter and muffle it with her pillow.

“Are you- are you laughing at me?”

She grinned even though he couldn’t see her. “Me? I would never!”

Clarke was pretty sure that he was rolling his eyes at her.

“I know you Clarke Griffin and even over the phone you’re _still_ a terrible liar.”

“Alright, maybe I was laughing a bit.”

There was rustling of clothes from the other end of the line and Clarke suspected that he was preparing for bed; it was almost midnight his time and he had class in the morning.

“I hate you.” His words lacked conviction and Clarke laughed openly this time.

“No, you don’t.”

Bellamy sighed and tried to imitate her voice. “No, I don’t.”

They were both quiet for a moment and Clarke was close to falling asleep to the sound of him breathing when he broke the silence.

“I miss you.”

She turned on her back and let her hand cover the space where his body usually rested intertwined with hers when they used to share the apartment.

“As do I.”

She missed his sleep-tousled hair, his body heat, the tips of his fingers on her skin; she missed his lazy morning kisses and the confused look he had on his face until he had downed a cup of coffee; she missed being able to touch him, to brush her fingers through his hair and lay her head on his shoulder; she missed his smile and his hands engulfing hers and the way he could sing off-key while making dinner; she simply missed _him_. (But there was nothing _simple_ in that).

“Five more weeks and you’ll be back home.”

The static drowned the first half of his response, but Clarke managed to catch the rest.

“-nd the bed is cold, princess, I can’t sleep without your hair in my nose.”

She huffed a laugh and tried to ignore the pang of sadness that was making her chest hurt.

“And here I thought you would be happy about that.”

“No.” There was no hesitation or doubt in his voice. “I prefer having you in my arms and complaining about your cold feet than being so far away from you.”

“Bellamy…” She dragged his pillow close to her and hugged it to her chest. His scent was long gone from the sheets but she liked to pretend that she could still smell it, and buried her head in it, dislodging the phone in the process.

Clarke was fast to put it back over her ear just in time to hear his soft “Just a little longer.”

The breeze from the window grew chilly and the dampness of her hair made her shiver. She was calculating how fast she could wriggle under the sheets, when his mischievous tone had her paying attention again.

“So, what are you wearing?”

She looked at the loose grey t-shirt, which actually belonged to Bellamy, and the plain black panties she had on, and shook her head at the ceiling.

“Really? That’s the best you got?”

Bellamy laughed and it warmed her insides; she smiled unconsciously.

“I’m tired, give me a break.”

Clarke pushed the extra pillow away and found a comfortable place on the bed. She let her voice get low and husky and slowly pulled her shirt up; the breeze felt good on her suddenly warming skin.

“Well, I have on that little red number you like so much.”

Bellamy’s breathing stuttered and Clarke smiled in triumph but before she could really taste her victory, he turned the tables on her.

“I do love it but I remember you complaining about how difficult it was to put on by yourself.”

Damn, he was right. The corset was a tricky thing to loop correctly.

“You’re no fun. As if you’re wearing something better than my shirt.”

“No, I’m naked.”

Clarke nearly choked on her saliva as images of him laying on his bed sprang to mind; his whole body on display, tan skin begging to be kissed and teased and marked by her nails and teeth, firm lean muscles clenching beneath her exploring fingers and pushing into her hands, always eager for more.

Liquid heat made her rub her thighs together.

“I can work with that.”

He was smirking, she was sure of it.

“ _Good_. Now, why don’t you take off that shirt?”

And Clarke had no complains. 

(For the rest of the night.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not the best one, sorry
> 
> ~~the next chapter of Crown is ready; it just has to go through my beta~~


	31. Slipping away, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: I NEED PART 2 + anonymous asked: Please write slipping away part 2!!!

Bellamy ran a hand down his face, the three day worth stubble scratching the skin of his palm.

“What did she say?”

Abby’s laugh was hollow and her voice was harsh over the phone.

“What do you think she said?” It was rhetorical and Bellamy didn’t bother answering.

Clarke had declined then; it was stupid of him to expect that Abby would be enough to convince her otherwise. (Yet, he had _hoped_.)

God, he felt like he hadn’t slept for days, which wasn’t far from the truth. Nearly three weeks had passed since they found out that Clarke had cancer, and every day was just another argument, another fight between them. Bellamy couldn’t remember when was the last time that he had kissed her, let alone held her in his arms.

This had to end, it was tearing them apart. They were supposed to get married in a month for fuck’s sake. They were supposed to be _happy_.

“You need to talk to her, Bellamy, convince her that there’s no other way. If it had been any other type of cancer maybe we could have pushed the chemotherapy somewhere in the near future, but she has leukaemia. If we don’t start her treatment in the next few weeks, we might lose her.”

Bellamy let his head hit the wall behind him with a hollow thud, and then did it again to clear his head, welcoming the physical pain (but it wasn’t enough to chase away the emotional agony that was ripping his heart in two). His eyes burned and somehow he managed to swallow past the invisible hand squeezing his throat.

“I’ll give it a go.” 

“That’s not enough.You have to make her choose chemo. ” Abby hesitated for a moment and her voice lost its confident edge, the next words coming out wobbly. “Bellamy, even if she wants to keep the baby, without chemo her cancer will kill her before she can give birth. We’ll lose them both.”

Bellamy’s breath rattled in his lungs as he desperately fought off the incoming panic attack, fingers digging in the flesh of his biceps, biting at the skin until it broke under his nails. He swayed to the side and leaned on the wall behind him, biting his tongue until he tasted blood. Abby’s worried voice sounded in his ear but it wasn’t until the blood filled his mouth and he had to swallow that his ribcage expanded and he started breathing again.

Hell, only the thought of losing his unborn child, of losing _Clarke_ was more than enough to bring him to his knees. He didn’t want to think what it would be if that happened to become his reality.

“I’m ok.” Abby didn’t seem convinced but he barreled on. “I’ll talk to her and I’ll call you later.”

The phone hanged uselessly from his hand and he dropped it on the floor, mindless of the damage he inflicted on it. His biceps tingled unpleasantly from where his nails had left crescent marks behind and he was still tasting blood in his mouth. His chest felt like an open wound and his feet were heavy.

Bellamy entered their bedroom -- Clarke hadn’t moved from her place on the window perch, watching the rain fall down in big drops from the gray sky.

It was like the weather was crying for _them_.

“No.” She didn’t even turn around, tone flat and implying that the topic was closed for discussion.

Bellamy rubbed his aching eyes and pushed back his fears; he needed to be strong for her, for them.

“You haven’t even heard what I’ve got to say.”

Clarke shifted and turned her back towards the window, her expression closed off and her hands cradling her abdomen protectively.

“Really? You’re not here to convince me that I need to start chemo?”

“Don’t do this.”

Her eyes came alive, ablaze with anger and spitting fire at him for even asking that of her.

“Don’t do what? Don’t refuse the therapy? Look at _me_.” She spread her hands and her cardigan hanged listlessly from her body. “I won’t start therapy, I won’t let my child be damaged by chemo, and it will be a cold day in hell when I chose my life over my child’s. Stop asking the impossible from me.”

The words were like tiny little knives, lodging themselves in Bellamy’s heart and _twisting_. He gritted his teeth.

“You’ll die without the therapy.”

“I will _not_ lose my child becau-”

“It our fucking child, Clarke. _Our_.” Bellamy’s voice cracked and Clarke was startled by his sudden outburst. “Do you think I want this? That I want to choose - to make you choose - between you or our kid? That I want to see you going through chemo?” Tears were running down his cheeks but Bellamy didn’t have the strength to wipe them away, his hands shaking as the words poured out of his mouth. “But I can’t lose you Clarke, I can’t. I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Please, please don’t leave me alone. _Please don’t die on me._ ”

Her face crumpled as the resistance and the anger left her, and she reached to take his face between her hands, wiping his tears away and hugging him tightly, her smaller frame trembling against his. Bellamy hugged her back and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobs.

“Oh, Bell…” He felt her tears on his neck and held her tighter.

Her fingers slipped in his hair and she tugged him up until his eyes met hers.

“I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if- the chemo, Bell, the chemo will kill our baby. I d-don’t want that.”

It was his turn to wipe the tear streaks on her cheeks away and he leaned in, resting his forehead on hers.

“I know, princess, I know.” One of his hands slipped between their bodies to rest on her abdomen. “I don’t want to lose either of you. But your leukaemia is advancing too fast and you won’t last the six months our baby needs to get born. You’ll die, Clarke, and I’ll lose you both.”

She closed her eyes and he took her lips with his in a frantic kiss, pushing all his feelings in it, trying to get them across. Clarke pushed back, teeth catching on skin, biting, sucking, sobbing. When they drew apart, there was smudged blood on their lips.

Bellamy was afraid to break the silence but Clarke rested her forehead against his, brushed the blood and saliva off his mouth and leaned in for a chaste kiss. Then, she took a deep breath and steeled herself.

“Ok, I’ll do it, I’ll start chemo.”

Bellamy felt new tears welling in his eyes and he had to blink few times to chase them away.

“Thank you. God, thank you.” He kissed her again and again, welcoming her heat and drinking her in greedily.

Her hand covered the one he had on her abdomen and they stopped for a moment to look down, both grieving, their souls screaming with all the words they couldn’t say.

Clarke was nineteen weeks pregnant.

And she would have to give it up because the baby wouldn’t survive the chemo, and she wouldn’t survive the time their child needed to be born.

“Mommy and Daddy love you very much.”

Clarke broke down and Bellamy held her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two things to say about this - first, you shouldn’t have asked for it, and second, brace yourselves.


	32. Earth has nothing on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: 47 - meeting at a festival au
> 
> \--
> 
> This turned into an Ark!au - Jake never got floated, Octavia never got caught, Clarke has the most embarrassing crush on Bellamy Blake and Wells approves.

Clarke looked at her reflection in the window of her room and tugged self-consciously at her flared skirt. She had tried to sew two of her father’s old flannel shirts together to make herself a skirt for the masked festival but now, looking at it, she wasn’t so sure she had done a good job.

The skirt was burgundy in color, with wide black belt on top. Her simple black shirt (the only one without any holes in it) was tucked into her skirt, and her blond hair was out of her usual braid, falling in soft waves around her neck.

Clarke patted her skirt one more time and scoffed at her reflection – this wouldn’t do. She was about to take it off and change into something else when her father knocked on her door and entered her room.

“Ready to go, kiddo?”

She turned around, her skirt swirling around her legs and clutched nervously the mask in her hands.

“I think I’ll change clothes first.”

Her father shook his head and came closer, taking her hands in his.

“What’re you talking about? You worked so hard on this skirt! You’ll be the prettiest girl out there tonight.” He leaned and kissed the top of her head. “You look amazing. Now hurry along, Wells is waiting for you outside.”

Leave it to her father to ease her worries.

Clarke smiled and lifted the mask to her face, tying the worn-out ribbon behind her head. She kissed her father on her cheek and ran out of her room, waving goodbye behind her. Opening the door to their apartment, she almost barrelled into Wells, who was standing in front, hand poised to knock.

She chuckled and saw him rolling his eyes at her from behind his mask.

“Shall we?” Wells offered his elbow and Clarke looped her arm with his.

“We shall.”

The corridor was empty; it seemed most of Alpha station had gone to the festival after all. Contrary to her expectation, Clarke was slowly getting nervous and she looked down at her skirt, making sure that she looked alright.

Wells noticed and couldn’t help but tease her.

“Trying to impress someone?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks even as she squeaked and poked him in the arm. “What? No! Why would you think that?”

He smirked knowingly and Clarke groaned, hoping that the mask was covering the worst of her flaming cheeks. (It wasn’t). 

Ok, maybe there was someone special she was hoping to see. But it didn’t have to mean anything, and certainly not what Wells was implying! It was just harmless admiration from afar, not even a crush!

Wells gave her a disbelieving look (maybe he had a right to doubt her, she didn’t fully believe it herself).

But before he could drill her further, they reached the main hall and the open observation deck, and, judging by the loud music and the dancing crowd, the festival had already started. Clarke extracted her arm from Wells’ hold and bounced off, leaving him to mingle on his own.

Wells however, had to have the last word. “I want to meet that guy first before you start dating him!”

Some people turned around and Clarke pretended that the comment wasn’t meant for her. Seriously, how embarrassing.

Alright, maybe yes, she had interest in a certain dark-haired, cheeky smiling guard. Maybe she had noticed him on last year’s masked ball and had been on the lookout for him ever since, catching glimpses of him every now and then, but never long enough to gather the courage to go up to him and actually start a conversation. Maybe, and that’s a big maybe, she had asked around about him and had snooped through the security files when nobody was looking (though with no luck). Maybe…

Fine, scratch maybe; she  _definitely_ had a crush on him.

Clarke bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from squealing; just thinking about the ridiculous feelings she had for him had her heartbeat racing.

 _Get a grip on yourself, Griffin_.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Clarke looked around, trying to find a point, from where she could see all of the main hall. Unfortunately, there was no such place. Out of other options, she braved the dancing crowd, slipping between flailing arms and grinding bodies, keeping an eye out for  _him_.

After ten minutes, she had bumped into Wells twice, gotten an elbow to her ribs and had her mask almost flying off her face after a particularly enthusiastic dancer had stumbled in her path. And  _no_ sight of her mystery guard.

This festival  _sucked_.

Discouraged by her findings – or rather lack of – Clarke moved away from the crowd and approached the observation deck.

Her breath, like always, was stolen from her lungs by the view she had before her eyes – the blues and greens and dark browns of Earth were shrouded in mystery by the whiteness of the clouds swirling on the surface. She had never seen anything more beautiful, not even in the videos the Ark occasionally let them watch.

Earth was-

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

The male voice startled her, yet Clarke didn’t move her eyes from the colorful planet.

“Yes, it certainly is.” Her hand touched the surface of the window and she traced Earth’s contours with her fingers.

The guy shuffled his feet and, with her peripheral vision, Clarke saw him leaning on the wall next to her.

“And yet, it has nothing on you.”

At this, Clarke turned around and the rebuking words on her tongue died a quick death as her throat went dry and her heart skipped a beat, before starting a wild drum in her chest.

The dark brown eyes of the guard –  _her_ guard – crinkled with amusement and the light from the fluorescent lamps overhead turned them to liquid copper.

Clarke made a high-pitched sound, which she promptly stifled with her hands.

He chuckled and crossed his arms in front of his well defined chest, bringing Clarke’s attention to the muscles bulging under his uniform and his wide, strong shoulders. That was so not fair.

“I heard you’ve been asking about me.” Her guard – goddamit, she didn’t even know his name! – spoke nonchalantly, but the seriousness in his gaze had her rethinking her initial response.

In the end, she decided to match his pretend-indifference. “I have? Weird, I don’t remember.”

He scowled and changed his stance, suddenly looking less confident than a moment ago. Running hands through his hair, he gave her a slow look-over that had her skin tingling and pursed his lips.

“I must be mistaken then. If you’ll excuse me.”

He turned to leave and Clarke panicked, her hand shooting out to snag the sleeve of his uniform and tugging him around.

“Wait! I…yes, I was asking about you.” Her cheeks bloomed pink and her hands pulled at her skirt nervously.

His smile didn’t make a comeback but he stayed, gaze boring into hers and compelling her to continue.

“I wanted to know your name.” The truth slipped from her lips before she could think about it.

“Why is the golden girl of Alpha station asking after a lowly guard like me?”

She let go of her skirt and fiddled with the ribbon of her mask, before tucking some of her hair behind her left ear. Looking out the window, Clarke spilled the rest of the story, butterflies fluttering in her stomach and praying that she didn’t come off as creepy or worse, condescending.

“I saw you at last year’s masked ball. You were standing guard but there was this dark haired girl that you often spoke to and she made you smile and…I don’t know. I guess I saw something I liked.” Dear God, that sounded so lame. She needed to get away from him before she embarrassed herself further. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any inconveniences, it wasn’t my intention.” She chanced a glance at him, committing to memory the pattern of his pale freckles and the way his curly hair shone under the lights, before she made a run for it.

“I wasn’t lying you know.” Clarke froze mid-step. “Earth has nothing on you.”

There were fingers in her hair and a moment later, her mask slipped from her face, held lovingly in strong, capable hands.

The music changed to something slow and he took few steps until he was standing in front of her, hand held open in an invitation.

“I think you’d like to dance with me.”

“I don’t even know your name.” Her words were no more than a whisper; Clarke still couldn’t process what had happened.

“Bellamy, Bellamy Blake.” His –  _Bellamy_ ’s – smile was genuine and Clarke found herself mirroring it, putting her hand in his and letting him pull her towards the dancefloor.

“I’m Clarke Griffin.”

“I know, I’ve been watching you.”

Her surprise must have showed on her face because his smile turned to a grin, and he guided her hands to lie on his shoulders.

“You’re not the only one to have seen something you like last year.”

She ducked her head, flustered, before letting her eyes meet his and smiling in return.

Across the room, Wells gave her a thumbs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original [tumblr](http://furiosaclarke.tumblr.com/post/119881469481/47) post.


	33. caught in the act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nathenmiller said: “See I did not mean to leave the blinds open and change but now that you’re staring at me…” AU !!!

Clarke wrenched the key out of the door, dropped her bag inside and slammed the door behind her, uncaring about Ms. Jackson’s disapproving speech. She was not in the mood to listen to the old lady going on and on about the odd hours Clarke was keeping.

She was a doctor for fuck’s sake, odd hours were her life.

Her coat ended up on the floor next to her shoes and she dragged her tired feet through the small, cluttered apartment until she entered her room. Her bed was still a mess from the morning when an emergency had her rushing to reach the hospital in time, and yet she couldn’t remember the last time it had looked so inviting.

Clarke wanted to snuggle under the covers and sleep off her tiredness, but she was splattered with blood and what not, her scalp itched and her underwear was sweaty and uncomfortable. She took off her scrubs and sent them flying in the general direction of the bathroom. Her socks were next, and then she was left only in her underwear. Just as she was about to pull off her panties, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she paused, suddenly hesitant to get completely naked.

Turning to the side, she peered through her open curtains  – it was fairly dark outside, and the apartment across appeared empty judging by the lack of lights (and wasn’t that a shame; her neighbor was _quite_ pleasing to look at).

But for the few minutes she spent gazing through the window – in her underwear, in clear view of _anyone_ watching – nothing moved and Clarke wrote it off as a fragment of her imagination. Still, she kept her underwear on until she reached the bathroom and closed the door behind her with a final click.

Once inside, she sighed in bliss when she finally got rid off her wretched bra, and she slid her panties down her hips on the way to the shower. Steam filled the bathroom as she turned the hot water on and she wasted no time in getting under the shower spray, letting the water beat down on her tense muscles and slowly making the strain from the nerve wrecking day ease from her frame.

She wanted to linger, take her time, but sleep was making her eyes close so Clarke soaped her body and washed her hair with quick but thorough motions. Once the last of the soap bubbles were down the drain, she turned the water off and patted her hair dry, before doing the same for her body, and wrapping the damp towel around herself.

She opened the door and the light from the bathroom flooded her room, and Clarke used it to navigate around her bed to her dresser, where she picked up a clean pair of panties. Her towel was starting to get loose and Clarke was contemplating letting it drop completely when the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she froze.

The feeling from few minutes ago was back and she was _convinced_ that she was being watched. She tightened her towel and dropped the panties on the bed, making it look like that had been her intention all along.

Moving to the other side of her bed, on the pretext of looking for her sleep shirt, she kept her eye on the window and nearly gasped when she caught a shadow moving in the apartment across.

Jesus Christ, her neighbor was watching her get dressed! And he most probably had been watching her get _un_ dressed!

Her tall, dark and too handsome for his own good neighbor! The one that had made her weak in the knees last week when she had stumbled into him and he had prevented her from falling down, catching her around her waist and holding her against his firm chest, winking at her and telling her to be more careful. The one that she had been not so subtly checking out through her window on the rare mornings when was still home and he was getting ready to leave for work, and damn it but he could pull off a suit like no other.

_That_ neighbor.

Her heart was getting ready to burst out of her chest as an insane idea formed in her head.

Biting her lip and praying to God that this was going to work out _somehow_ , Clarke turned her back to the window and loosened the towel, letting it slip down her naked body until it caught on the swell of her butt. Her back was completely exposed to his gaze and Clarke shivered with excitement, goose bumps dancing along her damp skin.

She dragged the soft shirt over her head, lifting her arms up more than needed and making sure to arch her back and twist slightly to one side to give him a small teasing glimpse of what her breasts looked like. Once the shirt was on, she dropped her towel completely – her shirt was long enough to cover most of her butt but short enough to ride up and let her neighbor get a good look of her assets when she reached across the bed to grab her panties.

The shirt slipped off her left shoulder when she tugged her panties on and Clarke giggled, giddiness running through her veins, making her more daring and adventurous than she could have expected to be.

But once she was completely dressed, she didn’t know what to do. The show was over and Clarke felt nervous and unsure if her teasing had been really welcomed. What if he had been simply looking for something in his room and Clarke had given him a peep-show thinking he was actually interested in her?

Her hair still damp, she grabbed the towel from the floor and went to the window. Yet, something stopped her from drawing the curtains shut.

The lights in his apartment were still off and Clarke frowned, at loss on how to proceed. But fate favored the brave and all that shit, so she went to her desk, grabbed one of her notebooks, opened to a blank page and scribbled a message on it.

She brought it to the window before she could change her mind and plastered it against the glass, staring insistently at the shadows across from her.

But nothing happened and Clarke felt bitter disappointment in her mouth. God, she was so stupid. The notebook slipped from her hands and she reached to grasp the curtains when all of a sudden a lamp in his apartment was turned on and she saw him bending over his desk, hand moving as if writing something.

Afraid to get her hopes up, Clarke waited patiently, body vibrating with nerves and hands crossed protectively in front of her chest.

His strides were confident but his smile was sheepish when he lifted his paper up so that she could read it.

To hers _I know you’re watching_ , he had responded with _couldn’t help myself, you’re very captivating, sorry._

He rose a finger to tell her to wait and turned the paper around.

_dinner on me? as an apology?_

Clarke grinned, her cheeks red from embarrassment and happiness.God, was this real? Flipping on a new page, she wasted no time writing her response and letting him see it.

_you got a name?_

He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck before writing back.

_Bellamy. you?_

_I’m Clarke. and I love Thai._

_Thai it is then._

Clarke hugged the notebook to her chest and bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from squealing. Across from her Bellamy wrote another message.

_so, you got a number I can call?_

Clarke didn’t even have to think about it before writing her number down and letting him program it into his phone. A moment later, her phone rang from her bag sitting in the hallway and she ran to get it.

“Hello, minx.” His voice was deep and just as sexy as she remembered it to be.

She laughed and went to lay on her bed, propping herself with few pillows so that she could watch him watch _her_ , while he was sitting in a chair in front of his window.

“Hi,” she answered back and couldn’t help but be glad for forgetting to pull her curtains shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original [tumblr](http://furiosaclarke.tumblr.com/post/120286041586/see-i-did-not-mean-to-leave-the-blinds-open-and) post.


	34. blink and you're engaged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thislittlebadwolf asked:  
> “I dropped my ring and you came to pick it up at a party, but everyone thinks that you’re proposing oh god.” AU is the best prompt ever! Imagine everyone thinking Bellarke are dating though they barely tolerate each other, and then this happens! And Bellamy decides to not diappoint their spectators and gives an impromptu speech about how Clarke is the love of his life - and she thinks he's serious! XD

Clarke wrapped the scarf tightly around her neck and lifted the collar of her jacket, trying (and not really succeeding) to ward the chill away.

The house behind her was alive with music and light and the insistent shouting of drunk college kids. She blew hot puffs of air against her cold hands, shaking her head when they started singing along to Taylor Swift’s latest hit.

She had lost Raven and Monty among the crown early in the evening, and after some mingling of her own, sharing few drinks and some laughs with her fellow students, she decided to call it a night and get back to her dorm, and maybe catch up on the latest episode of _Game of Thrones_.

Blowing another hot puff of air on her clasped fingers, she rubbed her hands together to get her circulation working again and that was when she noticed that her ring was missing.

She turned her hands around and checked her pockets but to no avail – the delicate silver ring, with the small ruby in the centre was gone and Clarke started panicking. The flashlight on her phone proved useless when she turned it on and looked for a glint of red around her feet.

Fucking hell, that ring had been a present from her father!

And it was her lucky charm!

Grumbling, she traced her steps back, all the while praying that her ring would miraculously turn up completely intact, with no scratches in sight (though she would be happy even with the scratches as long as she had it back on her finger).

The door of the frat house was open and Clarke pushed inside, cringing when she nearly got covered in beer by a flailing hand. She put her phone back in her pocket and headed to the kitchen, suddenly remembering that she had washed her hands in the sink there from the spiked cherry punch she had bumped into on accident.

But except from the empty plastic cups littering the kitchen countertop and few bottles of whiskey, her search yielded no fruits. Her mood soured even further and she frowned, tugging at the ends of her scarf, mind desperately turning the events from the past few hours around, searching for a possible place and time when her ring could have slipped her finger.

But the house was too full and the people too many – the possibility of her tiny ring getting stepped on was bigger than the possibility of Clarke actually finding it whole.

Resigned and tired, and very very angry at herself, Clarke sidestepped the beer keg and made her way to the hallway, making a quick sweep over the people dancing in the open living room, hoping to catch a glimpse of either Raven or Monty. The blue of Monty’s shirt caught her attention and she was about to elbow her way to him, when a hand caught her arm and spun her around.

Clarke lost her balance and stumbled forward, crashing into a firm chest and wide shoulders as firm hands wrapped around her waist, keeping her steady. Her nose ended up buried in the stranger’s neck and getting a good whiff of his – because with big hands like that it was _definitely_ a he – firewood and crispy winter air scent.

Once she regained her equilibrium, Clarke lifted her head to thank her savior (even though he had been the reason for her stumble) when she finally took a good look of his face and the words died a quick death in her throat. Instead of thanking him, she pushed forcibly at his chest and took a step back, pushing his hands away from her body.

“Bellamy Blake.” His name slipped like poison from her lips and he tilted his head slightly on one side, his dark eyes reflecting back the disdain she was feeling at the moment.

“Clarke Griffin.” He mocked back and Clarke straightened her spine, narrowing her eyes and crossing hands in front of her chest, jutting her chin forward and cocking an eyebrow.

“And to what do I owe this… _pleasure_?” Her dry, biting tone let him know just how far from pleasurable she found his sudden appearance.

Blake slipped fingers in the front pocket of his jeans and wiggled them around before drawing them out back again; a glint of red caught her attention and a gasp slipped past her lips before her shaking hands covered her mouth to stifle the triad of grateful words that was about to pour out.

He had found her ring!

The music stopped but Clarke paid it no attention, eyes intent on the ring in Blake’s hand.

(But her eyes weren’t the only one.)

She was reaching to take it, hell-bent on ignoring Blake’s smug, self-satisfied smirk, when the first of many whisperers finally made sense to her ears.

“ _Oh my, is that a ring?_ ”

“ _Is he actually proposing?_ ”

“ _God, it’s not fair for them to be so attractive!_ ”

“ _I saw them arguing in the library the other day – the chemistry between them was so palatable that it’s no wonder that they’re together!_ ”

Her hand froze mid-way in the air and Blake’s stunned expression matched hers. But before she could turn around and put an end to the ridiculous rumors, his smirk returned and he slowly lowered himself to one knee to Clarke’s growing horror.

Mortified by his actions and what they symbolised, her mouth fell open and she found herself completely lost for words.

The bastard just pushed the unruly dark curls from his face and looked up at her, smirk slipping into something more innocent, more lovable and it was hard even for Clarke, who knew what an asshole he really was, to not fall victim to his acting.

“Princess,” the damned hated nickname fell from his lips like honey and she heard a girl swoon somewhere in the back. “I know we’ve had our differences and we’ve often butted heads, but I want you to know that half the time I’m riling you up on purpose – I just can’t resist the spark of challenge in your eyes when you disagree with me. I love your hair and the way you nibble your pen when you’re deep in thought, I love the doodles on your notes and your humming when you’re reading a book. I love the fact that you stand up to me and that you’re not afraid to put me back in my place when you think I’m wrong, and I love it when you steal my shirts from the laundromat and sleep with them.”

Her cheeks burned from embarrassment and her tongue was hurting from where her teeth were biting it – that had happened once, only _once_! It had been a complete mistake on her part; it had been late at night, Clarke had been working on a twelve page report and had completely forgotten about her clothes in the dryer. When she had gotten to them, somebody had taken them out and placed them to the side and in her hurry to get back to her room, she had snagged his shirt by mistake. And it was thanks to her rotten luck that she had used it as a sleeping shirt and Bellamy had caught her wearing it one day when his sister, Octavia, with whom Clarke shared a class, had dragged him to meet her.

“But most of all I love how you keep me on my toes and your sleepy smiles in the morning.” Here he paused for a breath and by the devilish twinkle in his eyes Clarke knew it was going according to his plan. “Clarke Griffin, will you let me have the pleasure of being my wife?”

You could hear a pin drop in the house, it was _that_ quiet. Everybody was eagerly anticipating her answer.

The tension weighted heavily on her shoulder and Blake’s open expression did little to help her come up with solution. But what she _did_ know was that she really wanted her ring back and that she wouldn’t let Blake have the gratification of seeing her back down now and become the talk of the campus for having rejected a marriage proposal from her supposed boyfriend.

Mind made up, Clarke let her finger slip through the ring and his stunned face was enough to bring a real smile on her face. The crowd around them erupted in cheering and clapping and Blake stood up, gathering her in his arms, squeezing a bit too tightly for Clarke to feel truly comfortable in his embrace.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His breath caressed her ear as he hissed his complaint, his body frigid against hers.

It was Clarke’s time to smirk. “I accepted _your_ marriage proposal, asshole.”

Blake leaned back and clenched his teeth bringing Clarke’s attention to his strong jawline and the dust of freckles on the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, small constellations curling around his ears and disappearing down his neck.

Damn, she had forgotten how devastatingly attractive he was.

He glared at her but his arms loosened their hold, letting her have some room to move as he left his hand on the small of her back and guided her gently through the still congratulating them crowd, smiling tightly and steering her towards the door.

“You were supposed to say no.” Blake gritted out and his obvious discomfort chased hers away; served him right for putting her in the spotlight.

Once outside and out of sight, Clarke slipped from his hold and patted him on the cheek.

“You should have thought twice before dropping on your knee, oh future husband of mine.”

Chuckling at his flabbergasted expression, Clarke shoved her hands in her jacket and tucked her nose into her scarf, leaving Blake behind in the dark.

What she hadn’t accounted for, however, was the news of their ‘engagement’ spreading like wildfire. Her phone pinged eleven times while the _Game of Thrones_ episode was still buffering. Clarke had barely unlocked her phone when Raven banged on her door.

“Clarke! Why am I the last to learn that you’re engaged to Bellamy?”

Clarke blinked and then fell back on the bed, groaning and then screaming her frustration in her pillow. Fucking hell, she should have said no and be done with it.

The banging on her door continued as her phone pinged with another new message and Clarke wished the ground could swallow her whole just this once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](http://furiosaclarke.tumblr.com/post/121051552411/i-dropped-my-ring-and-you-came-to-pick-it-up-at-a)


	35. blink and you're engaged, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angel-cali asked: Could you do a part two of "blink and you're engaged", please? If not then that's fine, I just really love your writing. xx

Clarke carefully wedged her door open and peeked outside – the coast was clear and she opened the door wider, careful of the squeaking, old hinges. She winced when a particularly loud creak made Raven mumble something in her sleep and turn around, burrowing further into the blanket Clarke had thrown over her when she fell asleep on the couch.

Raven had too much of a great time last night when Clarke had explained to her the situation and between the two of them the bottle of whiskey they had in the cupboard was now empty. Raven drank for amusement while Clarke tried to drown the memories from the night.

She locked the dorm behind her and tried to chase the sleep away from her eyes – she should have never signed up for morning classes, _never_. Clarke never had been an early person and especially not after a night like the one she had.

Her ring got caught on a strand of her messy hair and Clarke untangled it gently, mumbling curses under her breath and glaring at the glint of red. So much for it being her lucky item, really; all it had done was get her engaged, _fake_ engaged to a person she couldn’t stand to look at.

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

The voice startled her and made her jump, and she whirled around holding a hand over her heart, suppressing her initial reaction to yell.

Monty chuckled and offered her one of the two coffee cups he was holding.

Clarke tried to glare him into submission but his disarming, innocent grin proved too much for her to resist and she accepted the coffee, grudgingly grateful for the waking effect of the caffeine.

He opened his mouth to continue his line of thought or maybe greet her but she turned her back on him and started walking towards the main building.

“Don’t say a thing.”

Monty fell into step with her and bumped their shoulders together.

“Cheer up. How bad can it be?”

Clarke scoffed and hid her grimace by taking a sip of her coffee, recoiling slightly from the scalding hot liquid when it burned her tongue. Damn, nothing was going her way today.

“Oh, I don’t know – just half the student body thinking that Blake and I have some sort of relationship and that we’re now engaged.”

He met her sarcasm with a shrug.

“Give it a week and they’ll forget about it.” When he saw that her mood soured, he tried again. “C’mon it could be worse.” At her incredulous look, Monty took few steps forward and turned around, putting himself firmly in her path and making her come to a stop. “At least your family doesn’t know. It would have been hard to explain if they caught wind of it.”

She shuddered at that – her mother had been pressing her about finding a new partner since her disastrous relationship with Finn few years back, and as much as she liked scandalizing her with tales of her on-again-off-again romance with Raven (the two of them had long ago decided that friends fitted them better than lovers), her mother was starting to catch up on the lie. Who knew what she would do if she found out Clarke had a supposed fiancé. Probably throw a party to celebrate and demand Clarke bring him so that she could meet him.

“Don’t even think about that – you’ll jinx me.”

He rolled his eyes and opened the door for her, letting her go first with a small but over exaggerated bow.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Clarke laughed and he kissed her on the cheek before bidding her goodbye and taking a left turn when she took a right one.

But really, when she had planned on being an active and studious student she should have known better than to sign up for an 8am class; only Kane – their Political Science Professor – didn’t seem to mind the hour. (But then again Clarke was sure he loved to cackle in his dungeon when creating their tests, so he didn’t count.)

She entered the main building and made her way to Kane’s auditorium. Clarke was nearly there when she caught a glance of an unruly black hair and stopped in her tracks. She rubbed her eyes, desperately hoping that this was just another dream – nightmare more like it – but _he_ was still there, scowl in place and leaning against the wall in front of the auditorium.

Clarke took a bracing sip of her coffee and when she tasted nothing but the bitter dregs, her shoulders dropped and she glared at her paper cup.

_Traitor_.

Before she could decide if she was better off skipping Kane’s lecture or if his disapproval wasn’t worth running from her fake fiancé, Blake noticed her and his eyes narrowed. Great, he looked so happy to see her.

The feeling was mutual.

He started walking her way and Clarke tried not to fidget in place. Fuck, did he have to be so intense so early in the morning? Her brain was still sleeping, she was not ready for this!  

Moving her now empty cup of coffee in front of her like a shield, she lifted her head to meet his eyes head on, hating how he seemed to tower over her form. High heels, next time she was going to put on high heels and smile smugly when he was the one who had to look up to meet her gaze. (Not that she _wanted_ there to be a next time.)

“Yes?” Clarke’s clipped tone was a hair’s breadth away from sounding impolite.

“We need to talk.” She was delighted to find out that his voice was gruff and still heavy with sleep. Well, well, even the great Bellamy Blake wasn’t a morning person.

She looked around – the corridor was empty. “Talk then.”

For a moment he appeared to be ready to fight her on the matter but then he sighed and ruffled his hair and clenched his jaw, unwilling to let the words fall from his lips despite his initial intentions.

Clarke pulled her shoulder bag higher and huffed. “I have a class, Blake, I don’t have time for your existential crisis.”

It was as if he was waiting for her to spur him on.

“You need to have a talk with O.”

Her first reaction was to ask why but her mind finally came online and suspicion made her change her original question.

“Why don’t you talk to her? She’s your sister after all.”

If possible, her words made him wince and he lost his intimidating air.

“I can’t.”

A quick glance towards her ring gave him away.

“Is this about last night? God, just tell her that it was a joke, it’s not like her to actually think we’re engaged.” Actually, she was sure Octavia would find it hilarious.

“She won’t believe me.”

Clarke was slowly starting to freak out; this was not fucking normal. (She should have _never_ gone looking for her ring.)

Her throat was dry and for some reason her heart was beating anxiously, as if sensing the oncoming storm.

“Why wouldn’t your sister believe you when you tell her that we’re not actually engaged?”

Blake’s frustration was rubbing her the wrong way and he was glaring at her again.

“It doesn’t matter. Look, just talk to her, alright?”

She was tempted to throw her coffee cup at his stupid face. Her cheeks became red with anger and she gritted her teeth.

“I’m not your-”

“Miss Griffin, if you don’t plan on participating in my class then at least take your pre-wedding spat somewhere else.”

Mortified, Clarke froze mid-sentence and watched the blood drain from Blake’s face. Professor Kane nodded as if happy with the results of his words and turned around to enter the lecture-hall. She wasted no time getting around Blake and hurrying after her professor, pulling her hair to cover her burning face from the curious students.

“Griffin, we’re not-” Clarke shut the door behind her with more force than necessary, muffling the rest of Blake’s indignant reply.

Sitting in her usual place and trying to appear as small as possible, Clarke let her head rest on the desk in front of her, resisting the urge to bang her head few times for good measure (it never hurt to check if all of this was one big nightmare, right?).

Kane started with his lecture and just as Clarke was thinking it couldn’t get any worse she was reminded of two very important facts – first, Kane had said _pre-wedding_ meaning that he knew about her and Blake’s supposed engagement, and second, her mother was long-time friends with her professor.

Her hand crumbled her empty coffee cup.

Well _fuck_.


	36. a (not so) perfect beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a (very late) fic for [rilliecool](http://rilliecool.tumblr.com/) who won a drabble in the giveaway I did a while ago and requested an Anastasia AU; the drabble is entirely inspired by the train scene and the snarkiness between Anna and Dimitri; big thanks to [Katie](http://dreamingundone.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this for me!

The train moved steadily forward, prowling through the snow, black smoke rising from the burning coal used to power the steam engine. **  
**

Clarke slouched in her seat, marveling at the comfortable red seats, and smiled when Raven tickled the small mutt with her quill. The pup barked playfully and attacked Raven’s scarf when the older girl draped it over her traveling bag.

The sliding door to their compartment slid open and Bellamy made his way in, dragging the last of their luggage behind him. Clarke watched with amusement as he nearly toppled over Raven’s outstretched legs and jostled the pup, making him bare his teeth.

She stifled a chuckle at his grumbling and turned to stare out of the window when he crashed in the seat next to her. Unfortunately, her laughter hadn’t gone unnoticed and she saw him frown in the reflection, as if silently judging her.

“What?” Her annoyance only seemed to fuel his bad mood.

“Do stop slouching in your seat, for God’s sake. You’re a Grand Duchess, sit straight and look like one.”

Raven paused in her writing and looked up just in time to see the narrowing of Clarke’s eyes.

“Oh, and I suppose you know a lot about what Grand Duchesses do?”

Bellamy smirked and leaned in. “I do in fact, I’ve made it my personal business.”

“Do tell, was it their gold you were interested in or their skirts?”

Raven covered her chuckle with a cough as Bellamy went unnaturally still. Then he recovered his composure and cleared his throat.

“Clarke, look, I’m just trying to help you, that’s all.”

Clarke arched her eyebrow at that. “So you do believe that I’m a Grand Duchess?”

“Would I have bothered with you otherwise?”

The blonde didn’t seem to believe him but smiled sweetly in return.

“Then stop telling me what to do!”

Bellamy looked ready to burst a vein and Raven took the chance to kick him. When he turned his angry gaze to her, she nodded to the door.  

“Let’s take a walk, I want to discuss our next step of the plan with you.”

Raven stood up and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the compartment unmindful of his spluttering objections. Really, she couldn’t leave those two alone for a minute lest they kill each other.

Still, she had to give it to Clarke – the girl knew where to push to really rile Bellamy up.

(Clarke: 24, Bellamy: 3)

-

Bellamy tried to brush away the wrinkles from his coat and ruffled his hair in a desperate attempt to bring some order to his curls. Then, realizing what he was doing (and more importantly for  _whom_ ), he scoffed and shook his head to mess up his hair again.

His head hit the cold window with a soft  _thud_ as he observed Clarke reading her book, completely absorbed in the pages and ignorant of his gaze.

Raven was right – if he wanted this to work, and he  _needed_ this to work, desperately – he had to be at least on speaking terms with Clarke. The more he looked at her the more he was ready to admit to himself that his initial thought was spot on – Clarke had the eyes and the hair of the Griffin family and it wasn’t a far stretch to see her as the small princess Clarke he remembered from his childhood.

Had he really found her?

Yet, did it matter? He was doing it for the money, it had been always for the money. They were his only shot at getting Octavia back.

Clarke turned another page and her hand scratched at the mutt’s ear making it yelp in happiness.

Bellamy slid the compartment door open and sat in the seat in front of Clarke, pulling her book down when she went on ignoring him.

“Yes?”

He wasn’t going to apologize, mostly because he wasn’t feeling sorry at all – she had been a right brat to him, but then again, he hadn’t acted any better – but they had to reach some middle ground if they were to make it to Paris alive.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Yes, I agree,” and before Bellamy could continue, Clarke interrupted him, “But I do appreciate you coming and apologizing for your behaviorr.”

“Apology? What- my behaviorr?! I didn’t say I was apolo-”

“Bellamy, please, don’t make things worse.” She finally closed her book and dumped it on the seat next to her making the pup jump up in fright.

“Fine, I’ll be quiet if you will.”

“Fine, I’ll be quiet, too.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Clarke fidgeted in her place and just as Bellamy was starting to relax, she spoke up again.

“Do you miss it?”

“You not talking? Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I meant Russia.”

“What, the cold and the snow? Definitely not.”

His answer didn’t seem to satisfy her.

“But surely you miss your home!”

Bitterness squeezed his chest and his laugh was hollow – Octavia was his home and she was in a place he couldn’t reach.

“I have no home.”

“Paris then? Do you plan to live there?”

“What’s with you and homes?”

“But don’t you-”

“Clarke, drop it.” Some of his frustration must have bleed through because Clarke pursed her lips together.

“As you wish.” Her words were quiet but acidulous and Bellamy sighed, missing the days when everything was simpler.

Thankfully, before the silence between them could become any more awkward, Raven chose to come back.

“Well, if I have to be honest, I expected to have to pry you off each other’s throats.”

“You’re not funny, Reyes,” Bellamy said, groaning when the two girls shared a look, Raven smiling cheekily at him.

God, he wasn’t sure he would survive if they decided to team up against him.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Clarke stood up and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Bellamy was driving me mad.”

“What have you done this time?”

“Me?” This was nothing short of betrayal on Raven’s side. “It’s her that’s the problem!”

Clarke scoffed and threw a last venomous glare his way, and then went around Raven and out of the door, and closed it shut with a final “ _Men!_ ”

Bellamy glared at Clarke’s seat as if it had personally offended him and clenched his jaw until his teeth started hurting.

“You’re sulking.”

“Am not.”

“Is it because you’re attracted to her?”

At this, Bellamy got on his feet, nearly face-planting into the seats in front of him in haste to face Raven and see if she was for real.

“Attraction? To that skinny little know-it-all princess? Ha! As if.”

Raven just smirked and leaned back against the glass door.

“You sure about that, Blake? She’s pretty and feisty, smart too. Stubborn, just how you like them.”

Just as he was about to shake some sense into Raven because really, she certainly lacked some if she thought he was attracted to Clarke, the train shook and they toppled from the unexpected motion.

“What was that?” Raven pushed herself up from her ungraceful slip and helped Bellamy up.

“I don’t know but I we need to find Clarke.”

Raven nodded and followed him out, holding the puppy to her chest.

And Bellamy – he told himself that the reason his heart was beating so fast was because of the adrenaline and not because of fear for Clarke’s safety.

And he was not worried about her well-being past what was considered normal.

(He  _so_  was.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](http://furiosaclarke.tumblr.com/post/134525404926/a-very-late-fic-for-rilliecool-who-won-a-drabble).


	37. saving the world wasn't in the job description

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> I met you at a really crappy summer job but now it's kinda fun until one day someone gives me a prophecy to save the world with you bellarke au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have watched _The way way back_ before writing this. Thus, this ended up being not really plot-driven silly oneshot, but at least it’s cute? Thanks to @cupcakesandtv for the quick re-read :)

At first, Clarke thought there could be nothing crueler than working at a waterpark and not being able to spend her day lazing under the sun and enjoying the water slides. Now, though, she marveled at her own naiveté.

It was barely 8am and the coffee machine at their improvised office had broken. Again. Clarke was betting her money on Murphy – that jerk had something against her getting her daily dose of caffeine. She glared at the coffee machine as if it had personally offended her and pressed the on button one last time, before giving up and filching one of Lincoln’s energy bars. They tasted awful but were her only choice if she wanted to be at least semi-coherent for the morning crowd.

She changed into her blue t-shirt, the bold lettering on the back labeling her as one of the staff, and twisted her hair up in a messy bun. Munching on the last of the bar, she attached the walkie-talkie to her shorts and went to check for fallen leaves in the pools.

God knew that was the worst thing she was hoping to have to clean up today – she dreaded any repeats of that one memorable morning when she stumbled over a discarded pair of speedos and the top piece of a girl’s swimsuit. Needless to say she stayed as far away from entering the water as she could.

On the way to the tool shed, Clarke spied tan hands and dark hair and frowned – Bellamy was busy setting up the fancier lounge chairs next to Raven’s snack bar; it seemed he was working the same shift as hers. Well, so much for her spending her break trying to get drunk on Raven’s non-alcoholic cocktails.

It wasn’t that she and Bellamy disliked each other per say, it was just that they got off on a wrong foot and now every conversation they had was a bit too much on the awkward side for Clarke’s taste.

He raised his head just as she was getting the leaf skimmer and their eyes met.

Clarke waved after staring at him stupidly and after a moment he nodded back and went back to ignoring her existence.

Just great, why did she even bother to begin with?  

-

Four days after, as the fluffy clouds turned grey and the rain poured with unpredictable force, Clarke was too busy chasing a flying umbrella to pay much attention to her surroundings.

Thus why, when she slipped on the wet tiles next to the Dizzy Spins slide’s pool and fell into the cold water she had nobody to blame but herself.

Her head was pounding from hitting the side of the pool and her lungs burned with the lack of oxygen, until something firm and strong yanked her arm up and out of the pool. Clarke coughed and spit the water from her mouth, throat and eyes burning from the chlorine. The same arms grabbed her around her chest and pulled her out of the pool, spreading warmth through her chilled skin as they cradled her head and checked her bump.

Clarke winced and flinched from the probing touch only to find herself on her feet with Bellamy’s steady hand on her elbow.

“You gave me quite the scare there.”

“Yeah, well,” her voice was scratchy and pulsed unpleasantly when she swallowed. “You can be sure it was far from my intention.”

Bellamy smiled and his – well-defined and wide, Clarke couldn’t help but notice – shoulders released some of the coiled tension they held. His shirt was completely wet and clinging to his body in an obstinate way and Clarke had hard time reminding herself that now was not the time to ogle her colleague.

Turning her attention back to his dark eyes, she noticed the slight smirk he had and she flushed red at having been caught checking him out. She crossed her arms in front of her, suddenly aware of the fact that her shirt was nearly transparent thanks to all the water that was dripping from her, and shrugged off his hand, missing his warmth the moment he let go of her.

Clarke cleared her throat and looked around – the waterpark was a mess, upturned chairs and miserable looking umbrellas were accompanied by flying mats and noodles, with the occasional doughnut-shaped tube making an appearance. The storm had hit hard and fast and had barely given them any time to get the people out.

“We should get back to work.”

“As long as you promise to refrain from making any more diving attempts.”

She rolled her eyes but he wasn’t impressed by her forced nonchalance; her head was still hurting.

At the end, she relented without too much of a fight. “I promise.”  

Bellamy nodded and some of his wet hair fell over his eyes. “Good.”

He made her keep a hold on the back of his shirt and despite the fact that Clarke protested, secretly she found his protectiveness to be cute.

Who knew that all she had to do to make him talk to her was try to drown herself?

-

Clarke was on swimsuit duty and Bellamy was dozing off on the counter in front of her.

“Seriously, though, who comes to a waterpark and rents a swimsuit?”

Bellamy squinted at her. “Lazy people?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and wrinkled her nose, unsatisfied by his answer. “But what if we don’t wash them?”

“But we do?”

“Yeah, but they don’t know that.”

Bellamy propped himself up on his elbow and drummed his fingers on the counter. “Clarke, are we seriously going to have a philosophical debate on why people rent swimsuits when they can’t be sure if we’ve properly cleaned them before that or not?”

Clarke went through a myriad of expressions before stopping on mollified. “You’re no fun.”

“Believe me, I can be fun.”

“Oh, really? Prove it.”

Bellamy smiled, dark and impish, and turned around to scan the crowd. After a moment, he set his eyes on somebody and pointed Clarke in that direction.

“Do you see that boy with the blue trunks? I bet you five bucks that he’ll slip on purpose and fall into the girl with the leopard sunglasses.”

Clarke lifted an eyebrow and smiled in return. “Keep your money, I want coffee next time we’re on morning shift.”

“Deal.”

“And I say he’s going to bump into the girl’s boyfriend.”

Two minutes later, Clarke was one coffee richer, Bellamy was looking for a new target, and their previous mark had happily gotten a close feel of the other guy’s pecs.

 _Teenagers_.  

-

“Clarke?” Her walkie-talkie beeped and Clarke dropped the tube she had been dragging along.

“Yes?”

“Can you come to Dragon’s Tail? I, um, I have a bit of a situation going on.”

Puzzled, Clarke abandoned the tube, and headed for their longest slide. “I’m on my way.” Maybe he was getting harassed again – it wouldn’t be the first time a pretty girl (and on few occasions, a boy) had tried to get into his pants and Clarke had come to his rescue. Not that Clarke had been keeping count or something.

But when she finally found him, it was not a situation she was prepared to deal with.

Next to Bellamy was an old lady with bright pink feathers in her electric blue hair, dressed in a bizarre yellow sundress with dancing skeletons and numerous colorful bracelets on her hands. In her feet, a shaggy grey cat was licking its paw and giving Clarke an appraising look.

Weirded out, Clarke moved to Bellamy’s side and he lifted his left arm where the lady had clasped her hands around him and was that a shimmery golden ribbon?

“Oh, good!” The lady clapped and her bracelets rang like bells. “This looks better and better.”

“I’m sorry, but can we be of any help?”

The lady was unexpectedly fast and pinched one of Clarke’s cheeks before she could react. “Yes, my dear, I’m afraid we all need your help.”

“Look, lady,” Bellamy’s whole posture was taut and he looked ready to snap at a moment’s notice. “Why don’t we show you the way out and maybe call a taxi to drive you home?”

The cat yowled and the lady hummed, completely unconcerned with Bellamy’s tone.

“Where did I leave it?” She rummaged through her dress’ pockets, discarding a seemingly endless number of small knick-knacks. The cat choked and spat out a ball of fur and the lady grinned triumphantly. “Ha! There we go, I knew it was here somewhere.” She brushed the fur away and revealed a small golden coin.

Clarke could only stare in horror as the lady grabbed her hand and pushed the coin in her hand. Then, she lifted Bellamy’s hand – the one still holding the ribbon – and put it over Clarke’s.

“You have seven days to find Cerberus and bring him back to Persephone. Hades in on a vacation you see, and it would be bad if he caught wind of it, and Zeus is itching to have a reason to start a war. The coin is your payment to enter the Underworld but of course you knew that.”

Bellamy’s aura bordered on murderous and Clarke’s wasn’t far off.  “Are you being serious right now?”

“Completely! You might want to start from that trees on 87th, the wood nymph there was complaining about burned grass.” The lady clapped her hands again and all the junk she had thrown away suddenly floated back into the pockets of her sundress.

Clarke’s eyes went wide and she felt Bellamy freeze next to her.

“Chop, chop! You have a week to prevent the end of the world!” With that, the lady scooped the cat in her arms, ignoring the hissing from the feline, and disappeared with a snap of her fingers.

“Bellamy? Tell me you’ve slipped something in those brownies you gave me earlier.”

That seemed to bring him out of his stupor and he shook his head, dropping the ribbon and gave her a quick look-over.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The lady was obviously crazy.”

“Uh-huh.” She watched him throw the ribbon and the coin into the trashcan only for him to find them stuffed in his pockets again. An attempt to let them fall to the bottom of the pool proved futile, as did burning them.

“Should we try to save the world?” Bellamy grimaced when the ribbon stubbornly refused to be out of his grasp, and turned into a tiny bow bracelet around his wrist.

Clarke sighed and rolled her eyes, leaning against his shoulder and twirling the coin between her fingers. “Only the God of the Underworld would go and lose his dog.”

“It’s technically a hellhound, and it’s apparently Persephone’s fault.”

“I’m pretty sure that blaming a Goddess for something is not going to go well for you.”

He scoffed and threw his arm around her shoulders.

“So, 87th?”

“Let’s go talk to a wood nymph.”

-

“Hey, Bellamy, next time you decide to kiss me, can it be when you don’t taste of wet dog and ashes?”

“Give me a break, I did just prevent the end of the world.”

“You mean, _we_ did.”

“Whatever.” He kissed her again and muffled her response.

Cerberus whined behind them.


	38. "I can't look! I'm hiding my face in your lap."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bob-morley asked: "I can't look! I'm hiding my face in your lap." For blarke!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi, this is ridiculous, features inappropriate boners (admittedly, only one) and ends on a bit more serious note than I intended, and you can’t fault me for any of it

Bellamy winced as the girl on the screen craned her neck at an impossible angle, the sound of breaking bones echoing almost eerily into his living room and making goosebumps rise down his neck..

“I’m pretty sure that’s not medically possible.”

Clarke shook her head against his thigh, her hair obscuring the part of her face that was cautiously peeking over the faded red afghan.

“Which part of ‘I'm hiding my face in your lap so that I don’t have to look’ you didn’t get?”

He grinned at her grumpy tone.

“C’mon, Clarke, it’s not even scary, just…-” the girl-ghoul jabbed her long black fingernails into her victim’s neck and ripped out the windpipe, “-disgusting.”

Clarke huddled closer to him at the next terrified shriek from the TV screen, and Bellamy tried to sink deeper into the sofa, failing to keep her tantalizing warmth away from doing even more damage to his already shaky libido. (And no, horror movies were not a turn on for him, but Clarke wiggling into his lap was definitely one.)

Watching scary movies with Clarke always ended up with some variation of her huddling and/or hiding against him, so why she had insisted on watching one on Halloween was a complete mystery to him.

But Bellamy was a sucker for her blue eyes and pouty lips -- and for her body pressed tight against his -- so he rubbed his palm up and down her arm and focused back on the movie; now would be the most _in_ appropriate time to get a boner because of his hot best friend, with whom he was madly and deeply in love.

God, his life was a such a cliche.

Just as he was getting sucked back into the crappy plot line and conveniently pretending that Clarke was not almost laying on top of his dick, Clarke shifted and turned around, burying her face into his abdomen.

He tensed as she pulled the afghan around her until she was laying in a warm cocoon of red wool, and managed a weak smile when she asked, “Is this okay? I can’t watch anymore.”

“Yeah.” All the air he held inside his lungs burst out at once and he had to clear his throat, for once glad that they had turned all the lights off and she couldn’t see the insistent blush splotching his cheeks and ears. “You sure you don’t want me to turn it off?”

“No, finish the movie, I’m good.” And with that she found a comfortable place to lay her head and closed her eyes.

And Bellamy-- Bellamy was so _fucked_.

His attention was shot to pieces with every breath she took, his mind stuck inside a loop watching her inhale and exhale against his crotch, imagining that he could feel the air from her lips warming his jeans and reaching his dick.

Bellamy bit back a whimper as the idea blossomed into one of his favorite, albeit guilty, fantasies of Clarke naked, in a similar position, and his fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists helplessly when his dick stirred with interest.

For fuck’s sake, _this was not happening to him_. He had gone months now keeping his attraction and feelings for Clarke a secret from her, and he was going to do everything in his power to keep it that way, even if it would mean that he would have to excuse himself to go take care of his dick -- _which was not getting the fucking memo and was already half-hard_.

The girl-ghoul on the screen did something extremely grotesque to another of her victims, but Bellamy’s dick was suddenly immune to the over-the-top gore displayed on his TV. If anything, the next time Clarke adjusted the afghan around, seeking some cool air and giving Bellamy a good glimpse of her cleavage in the process, his dick got even harder.

He took a deep breath through his nose and his fists unclenched -- this could _not_ go on like this. With a strangled gasp, he sat up and nearly pushed Clarke off the sofa in his haste to get as far away from her as he could.

“Bathroom,” he bit off when she squeaked in surprise, banging his head against the bathroom door once he was inside, ashamed and aroused all at once.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” Bellamy let his head fall against the door and twisted his fingers into his hair, pulling until he winced from the pain.

His dick throbbed inside his jeans and he glared at it, refusing to even _think_ about jerking off while the object of his interest was sitting few feet from the bathroom door. And even if she wasn’t, Clarke deserved more than being a regular visitor to his fantasies. They’ve been best friends for almost five years now and Bellamy was adamant that he would treat her with the respect she deserved, feelings or not.

Yet, he was a fucking idiot, thinking that he could have things between them stay the same.

He turned the faucet on and splashed his face, pushing back his unruly curls, hands shakily clenched around the porcelain sink until his arousal ebbed away and he could adjust his dick inside his jeans without him feeling uncomfortable.

Figuring that the more time he took to hide inside the bathroom, the more explaining he had to do, Bellamy shook the hair away from his eyes and opened the door.

Clarke was sitting on the sofa, bathed in pale blue by his TV.

“I paused the movie for you, I thought maybe you’d like to see how it ends.”

“Ah, yeah, sure. Though the ending is pretty obvious with the twins having such a hard time killing off the ghoul.”

“Pretty sure they were not the only ones having a _hard_ time,” she mumbled back.

His eyes widened and he faltered in his steps, nearly crashing into his coffee table.

“What?”

For a moment it seemed like she would go on like nothing happened, but then he saw her square her shoulders and she turned to look at him, face carefully blank.

“You heard me.”

Mortification and dread squeezed his heart and felt like lead inside his stomach.

“Clarke, I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t-...”

“You didn’t meant to get a boner while I had my head onto your lap?” She continued when his words failed him.

He cringed and nodded, his neck burning hot from his embarrassment. “Yeah.”

“Well,” she licked her lips and Bellamy blinked, distracted by the shiny trail left behind by her tongue, “that’s unfortunate as it was what I was aiming for.”

Which-

“ _What?_ ” Bellamy was aware he sounded like a broken record but God, did she really say what he thought she did?

Clarke looked down at the sofa and Bellamy noticed her hands playing with the edges of the afghan, winding stray threads around her fingers. He realized with a jolt that she was nervous, shy in a way he had rarely seen her before.

“I may have been trying to get your attention for a while now, and I may have been desperate and asked Raven for suggestions, and well, this was the least ridiculous one.”

Bellamy choked. “She told you to find a way to turn me on?”

“I do believe her exact words were that I should just climb you like a tree and shove my tongue down your throat, but yes, that was the general idea of it.”

“Why?” His heartbeat sounded deafening inside his own ears and he couldn’t get enough of the way she looked at that moment -- defiant, but hesitant, her lips pressed into a stubborn line that he knew all too well, brave to the end of the world.

“Because I’ve been stupidly in love with you for what feels like eons and every other way to check if you see me as something else than your best friend failed rather spectacularly.”

He gaped and sat on the sofa next to her.

Then he chuckled, “Raven is going to be so smug when she finds out.”

“When she finds out what?” She tried to be coy but her tentative smile betrayed her hope.

“That her plan worked out.” Bellamy tugged her fingers away from the tangle of red threads and he squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles with a gentle reverence.

She laughed. “She is a genius after all.”

“Mm, you’re right.”

He pulled her closer until she was laying onto his chest, her lips catching onto his and sending pleasing tingles straight to his dick.

“I’m in love with you too, just so you know.”

She said “Good,” and finally kissed him, looping her hands around his neck and climbing into his lap, their bodies intertwining until he could no longer tell where he ended and where Clarke began.

The movie sat forgotten, their only spectator for the night.

 

( _Best inappropriate boner ever_.)

 


	39. what's your poison?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: 'met at a public fireworks display'. to this, I added a 'superhero au' and things went in an unexpected direction.

It wasn't that Bellamy had forgotten that today they were celebrating Unity Day - O had tried to get him to come to Gina’s party just this morning - but between his day job and his nightly patrols around Arkadia, Bellamy _had_ forgotten today was Unity Day.

That was why when the clock reached midnight while he was busy busting a drug deal, the flash of fireworks in the night sky caught him by surprise and blinded him, the night vision goggles he had on making it ten times worse. He brought his hands up to deactivate the goggles and the gang member he was fighting took the opportunity to punch him twice in the ribs before Bellamy managed to blink away the spots in his vision and deck him in the head.

“Fuck,” Bellamy’s voice came out as a low growl because of the voice changer sitting at the base of his throat, and one of the gang members whimpered.

“ _Red, what’s your status?_ ” Raven crackled in his ear as he was collecting the last of the drugs and setting them on fire.

“Bruised ribs and a shallow knife wound on my left arm. That new kevlar sleeve is holding up pretty damn well, G.”

She snorted and he let the familiar sound of her clicking keyboard wash over him, slowly letting go of the last tension and adrenaline from the fight. “ _I made it, of course it will hold up_.”

Bellamy chuckled and fired his grappling hook, riding the line over to the tallest building in the area as the police finally rounded the corner, the sound of the sirens drowned by the fireworks popping over his head.

“Got anything else for me?” He prodded at his wound - it had stopped bleeding and his blood has mixed with the dark red lines of his costume, easily overlooked if you didn’t know what to search for. The ribs were yet to start hurting but Bellamy already suspected he would have to take it easy the next few days. For now though, he was good to go.

Raven hummed and he did a quick inventory on his weapons, moving on to the next building when the police reached the tied up gang members.

He finally landed on a spacious balcony few blocks over, the apartment clearly expensive as it seemed to have a jacuzzi tucked away in one corner. His guard was down, assuming by the dark windows and closed balcony door that the apartment’s residents were gone for the night, or at least asleep. Which was why he nearly fell over the balcony rail when he noticed the blonde sitting in the corner, clutching at her phone, mouth open in surprise.

He fired few colourful expletives in his mind and put his hands palms up to show her he was unarmed.

“Sorry about barging in like this. I didn’t- expect to see you there.”

The girl- no, the woman, came to her senses rather quickly and frowned at him, gaze roving suspiciously over his whole getup; from the twin escrima sticks strapped to his back and his heavily equipped utility belt to the grappling hook still in his right hand, Bellamy figured that he looked anything but harmless.

“Is this you telling me you usually use people’s balconies and homes as you see fit,” here she paused, not recognizing his suit markings, “Mr. Vigilante?”

Bellamy opened his mouth to defend himself and then thought better of it, so he just shrugged. “More or less.”

“Huh.” His honesty startled him too. Then again, with his mask on Bellamy could be as honest or as deceiving as he wanted to. He had _some_ reputation to uphold but unlike some of the other vigilantes and superheroes, he wasn’t as popular and he didn’t have to constantly watch what he was saying and to whom.

Another round of fireworks erupted behind his back and illuminated the balcony, light dancing across the woman’s face and giving her blue eyes an uncanny glow.

She broke their eye contact and gasped. “You’re hurt!”

Bellamy instinctively looked down at his arm and rotated it clockwise to see it better. The fireworks must’ve shone enough light on his persona for her to notice the dried blood.

She chewed on her lower lip and finally let go of her phone, cautiously getting up and taking few steps closer to him. “I have medical background. I can take a look if you want?”

Bellamy found himself distracted by the way she moved; her unbound blond hair spilling across her shoulders and back, a threadbare shirt hanging loosely on her body and sleeping shorts hugging her hips, leaving the rest of her legs bare and God- _her legs_ -

“ _Red, I have a job for you_.” Raven’s voice put a quick stop on his indecent thoughts and Bellamy pushed everything else away, body thrumming with the anticipation of getting into another fight. “It’s just a scratch, don’t worry about it,” he shoot a smile her way and readied his grappling hook. “I’m sorry for intruding.”

The woman laughed and leaned against the railing, looking up at the fireworks. “You’ve just made my night a lot more interesting than it was.”

It was tempting to answer her flirting, to see how far she would let him take it but Raven was naming coordinates in his ear and Bellamy couldn’t afford to procrastinate any longer.

“Alas, I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Oh?” She turned her head to look at him and arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “That’s a shame. And here I thought you were going to make my night worthwhile, Mr. Vigilante.”

Bellamy smirked - both because it was expected of him and because he was genuinely amused and flattered by her attention. “Maybe some other night.” He fired his grappling hook and jumped on the railing, letting the momentum pull him as he fell, flying for few brief seconds before the line went taunt and pulled him up.

Her laugh echoed between the buildings and he heard her shout, “I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Vigilante!” before the fireworks swallowed the rest.

Raven cackled, " _Did you just score a date while wearing a spandex suit?_ ”

Bellamy shook his head fondly and jumped over to the next roof. “It’s not a spandex suit, G, and I don’t have a date.”

Still, he took a moment to mark her building in his mind map. Just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually flailing around on [tumblr](http://mercuryslunacies.tumblr.com/)  
> \- M.


End file.
